Sunday, September 22, 2013

French Floozy Hangover

Thus far in France I have developed the reputation for drinking too much wine (preferably rosé) and being a magnet for men... In essence, a lushy slutty whore... In some respects, I suppose I cannot officially deny this accusation. I do enjoy wine, I tend to drink just that little bit more than my body can handle, and my flirtation abilities seem to be far more effective on French soil than in the U.S. Last night, for example, I ventured to an Aussie Pub in the heart of Paris. I had been to another branch of the same Pub two years ago because two of my friends worked there at the time. This other location has quite the same aesthetic and post-10pm on a Saturday night very quickly turns into a night club full of guys and gals several years younger than me at best. Within moments of being in the bar, a man approached my friend and I, mainly because he heard us speaking in English. He is an Aussie man himself, in Paris for work, so it seemed that he wanted to chat with some English speakers. My friend rolled her eyes at me in hilarity because she clearly expected me to eventually make out with him... Which I did NOT do, thank you very much... Fine, I have kissed three guys since being in France. Not a record for anyone I am sure, but it's also not my fault that I am inexpressibly adorable and appealing ; )

Here is the theory I have developed: Different countries/cities have different boy slash romantic karma, just as they all have different atmospheres and vibes, etc... Both times I have lived in Paris, I had more successful interactions with men than I ever did in the entire 10 years I lived in New York. That is not to say I am married and finished and only met men who fawn all over me and successfully date my ever-loving soul, but I did fall in love and experience what it was to be adored and treated well. There are still many equally as frustrating things about men in this country as in any other. The difference is probably my mentality and the fact that I am an exotic foreigner. I want to be here, I feel confident, happy, hopeful, and full of enthusiasm for new opportunities. Those feelings radiate and permeate and yes, act like a magnet in some respects. 

The musings of a hangover are what allow me to conjure up these precious mind-gems. The one thing I will say, however, is that there must be a way to enjoy the crazy antics of the previous evening without the horrific repercussions of the next morning. My body, always battling the overwhelming powers of dehydration, more often than not could really use a portable hydrating IV that can be slipped into your purse or pocket. I challenge current scientists to consider this invention. Though, I could also consider the idea that drinking wine in France does not make me French, sadly enough, and I therefore do not have the DNA that allows me to imbibe the grapevine elixir without some impending peril... Sigh... The merging of cultures is always a bit tricky...


  1. I read this post not 15 minutes after I puked in a giant ziploc bag in the car. In front of my children. Best. Mom. Ever. I feel your pain...had waay too much to drink waay too fast at a wedding...rookie mistakes!

    1. Rookie mistakes, yet we are no longer rookies! Sad, sad role models ; )