Breaking resolutions...

As detailed in a previous entry I had promised myself that 2012 would bring only liaisons with hot, sexy Frenchmen. There was to be no more Anglo boys entering my life..or bed...or vagina...you get the idea.

That resolution lasted about a month.

The night that I met Charles I had consumed 3 bottles of rosé wine with a friend. And of course, because I still haven't learnt my lesson about drinking on an empty stomach (even though I'm now in my mid-twenties) I was well on my way to being on the wrong side of merry.  Note to self: "Eating's cheating" was fine at age 20, now, it's just a downright stupid philosophy.

After the aforementioned wine I was far too drunk to care that I found myself in an Anglo bar. Yes, my snobby attitude had disappeared and, according to the pictures that I found on my phone the next day, I had had a great time talking to my fellow boozers in some tiny pub in the Marais whose name now deserts me. My memories are hazy but I remember one such fellow boozer as being a hot English guy in a suit who I had a drunken kiss with right in the middle of this tiny pub. Classy! The next thing I remember is him giving me  his name (Charles) and number on a piece of paper before he made a hasty exit.

After I had gotten over my hangover the next day I text Charles. His quick exit had left me wanting more and from what I remembered he was very attractive. We text back and forth for a few days, I was loving the British humor and so was very quick to agree to a date with him that weekend. He told me that he was relatively new to Paris so I suggested that we went to Chez Justine, one of my favourite restaurants ever! So on the Friday I got home, got myself dolled up and headed to the 11émé.

When I came out the metro station and met Charles I silently cursed my beer goggles. Charles wasn't bad looking but he was ever so slightly shorter than me (eek!) and was very baby faced. Even though I like my men tall I overlooked it, after all he had made the effort of wearing a suit and we were going to my favourite restaurant, things could have been a lot worse. As we walked towards the restaurant Charles asked me how my day had been. I told him about my day at work and mentioned how I had went to the gym after. That was when strike one happened. Charles actually stunned me into silence by actually saying out loud "Yeah, I really need to join a gym. At the moment I look like a Holocaust victim when I'm naked." Seriously, who says things like that?! Especially when on a FIRST DATE!!! Thankfully it was dark so I doubt he saw the look on my face. I told myself that perhaps he was just nervous and decided that I would ignore his faux pas.

Once seated inside the restaurant however, things went from bad to worse. In passing I mentioned that he had also been in a suit the last time I had met him when strike two happened. Charles informed me that he did not own a single pair of jeans and that he wore suits every single day, not for work, just because he wanted to. Not only did he wear suits but he often accompanied them with a fedora hat. BOOM! This was closely followed up by him talking about how much he just loved smoking. I try not to judge people on how they dress and if people want to smoke it's their choice but living your life like you are on the set of Mad Men is a little deluded. Predictably he also loved the music of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and scoffed when I told him that I like a little of everything,  aaaaand strike three!!!!

Over our (delicious!) meal the topic of age came up. Charles had implied to me that he had a very good job and so, the topics of education and work came up. Something wasn't quite adding up though until he admitted that he was a mere twenty years old and that his birthday had been one month before! His very good job was an internship! Strike four! Charles cheerfully asked me if this was a problem and even though I said no, there was no hiding the expression on my face. Now, I know, I know, 'age is only a number', blah, blah, blah but take that 5 year age gap and add a big dose of immaturity and then it becomes very relevant. The very final straw came however when Charles asked me what year I had graduated. When I told him 2008 he actually laughed and declared "Oh wow, that's the year I started!". BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!! Strike five! Thankfully he lived in the suburbs of Paris and had to catch the RER home (explanation for his quick exit the night we had met) so there was no time for post-dinner drinks. Very sweetly, he did try to pay for my meal but there was no way I could let that happen, he was practically still a child in my eyes!

As we said goodbye I silently praised the 'bisous' for giving me a polite goodbye without that awkward kiss avoidance. We exchanged a few more texts before I (truthfully) told Charles I didn't think we had much in common. My foray back into the world of Anglo boys had been a disaster. From now on I would stick to Frenchmen. 

Julien - Part One

So after the Didier disaster things really quietened down on the Frenchman front and it didn't help that my two main wing women both got boyfriends and were less inclined to prowl in bars with me. I was feeling sorry for myself and I was needy for some male attention. (Yes, I know exactly how pathetic that sounds but seriously, I was one more lonley Saturday night in away from stuffing my face with Ben&Jerrys and screetching the words to Celine Dions 'All By Myself'.) Then my dear friend K convinced me to join the dating site adopteunmec.com. Now I know what you are probably thinking because I was thinking the exact same thing..aren't dating sites for middle-ages, divorcees who are basically past it? But K told me about all the fun dates she had been on via this site and eventually I signed up myself to see what all the fuss was about.
I was pleasantly surprised, some of the guys on this website were seriously good looking! And after looking at some of the stupidly beautiful girls on the site I decided that maybe it wasn't just for desparados after all. I never actually spoke to anyone on it however, until a wine fuelled night with a friend where we giggled our way through the male profiles on show. (Interesting fact: My friend became in contact with her now boyfriend via that site that very night and they are now living happily ever after!).

Anyway, lets cut to the chase. There was one particullar guy on this site who contacted me and was hot, hot, hot. Floppy hair? Check. Designer stubble? Check. French?? Errr, check. Julien described himself as an artist and we gradually started messaging. His English was pretty bad, but hey, who am I to judge?! He asked for my facebook which I gave him and he would often 'like' one of my statuses or photos. I had the feeling that of course he was just after one thing, and when he would ask me for a drink at 10pm at night I would always say no. This continued for a few weeks until eventually I figured I may as well bite the bullet and go on a date with him.

When date night arrived I got myself ready and headed to the bar in the Buttes Chaumont parc. He chose the bar and I was pretty impressed that he didn't just go for somewhere at Bastille or Oberkampf. I text him when I arrived to find that he was already in the queue to enter the parc and into the bar. As I headed towards him I was feeling really nervous, I really hoped his pictures were representative. My worries were unfounded though, I spotted him in the crowd and he was just as he was in his photos and everything he had said on his profile seemed to be accurate until I actually reached him. Omg, he was tiny!!!! As I've mentioned before I am a little vertically challenged (or fun sized as I like to say!) and Julien was the same height as me. Lucky I had worn really small heels or it could have been really embarassing. His face was nice though and I really wanted to run my hands through his floppy hair. Once settled with our drinks (I asked for a glass of rose - he bought me a bottle.) we started talking and got to know each other. It was a mixture of my bad French and his bad English but I thought we were getting on pretty well until he exclaimed "Deux ans en Paree et tu n'ai parlez pas francais?! C'est un catastrophe!!!!'." All I could think was 'Easy tiger, I think there are worse things in life'. Anyway, after a bottle of wine I was pretty drunk. We danced, we kissed and I actually had a really good date.

At the end of the night it was pretty difficult to get a taxi so Julien suggested that I stay at his place 'just to sleep'. I was drunk and tired and knew that I shouldn't go home with him. Although I was having fun I thought that he was just a tad on the strange side but when does sense ever take over?

Once back at his appartment I was impressed by how nice and big it was. I thought artists were supposed to struggle?! However, it was really dirty and I don't just mean untidy I mean overflowing ashtrays and dirty dishes everywhere. I was too tired to care though and off we went to bed to sleep. Actually sleep with only the minimum of fooling around!

I left the next day feeling a little confused. I had a nice night and Julien was handsome but there was just something a little off about him. I agreed that I would see him again but it wasn't until our next date that I realised exactly how weird he was....

Goodbye Didier....

So I thought Didier was a keeper but it turned out I was wrong. After Christmas we arranged to meet up via Facebook a couple of times. Each time he had said to me, "text me when you want to meet". The 1st time that I text him after a conversation like this and he didn't reply I brushed it off. The 2nd time it happened though I got mad!

It was a Saturday and we had arranged a little rendez vous the night before. Didier had told me to text him the next day to make arrangements and so around 3pm I text and asked when he wanted me. As I waited for his reply I went through the good old female routine that you painfully go through when sleeping with a new guy: shaving, exfoliating, moisturising, plucking, nail painting, underwear choosing (actually, that part's not so painful), outfit choosing, blow drying, hair straightening, perfume spraying and above all - criticitzing!

By the time I was finished this loooong beauty routine I expected a reply from Didier but nada. I figured he was just busy and would get back to me soon. I was wrong. Around 5pm I text him again. By the time 7pm rolled round I was majorly unhappy and decided that I would just treat myself to a couple of bottles of wine instead, oh and maybe some chocolate. (the endorphins in chocolate are supposed to mimic the pleaseure of sex right? Take that and the wine and it would be just like the first night I spent with Didier!)

An hour (give or take), half a bottle of rose down and copious amounts of chocolate later I was in no way feeling any endorphins, I was just plain pissed off and I sure wasn't doing myself any favours by watching 'danse avec les stars' (is that programme good in any language!?) and engaging in plentiful Facebook stalking. And then I saw it, the f**cking, bast***ing, c**t, dic***ad, frog was online! (excuse my French!) Fuelled by the wine I wrote him a somewhat snappy message:

 Me: Thanks for not getting back to me, had I known you were going to cancel I would've made other plans.
Didier: You were supposed to text me to arrange.
Me: I did and you didnt reply!!!!
D : No you never
Me (getting agitated) : Oh yes I fucking did, is this not your number, 06*********?

And then...he went offline!

Oh and a little thing I forgot to mention...I had got a new phone approx 2 weeks before this whole exchange took place. Not everyone had my new number so I was still keeping my old phone charged and switched on. (Can you see where this is going?!)

About 5 minutes later my old phone started vibrating with a message: 'Hello, this is the correct number for me.' Oh yeees, you guessed it, I had entered the wrong number into my new phone. All that while being mad that I had received no reply to my texts and I hadn't even been texting the correct number - what an idiot!!! I replied and asked if Didier still wanted to meet up. He didn't, he had made alternative plans. Plenty more wine had been consumed during this exchange so I will blame that for my hot-headedness, 'Fine', I replied 'but I can't be bothered with this and therefore I never want to see you again!'

Of course it was totally irrational and over the top but Didiers response totally floored me. I swear it was the worst thing a guy has ever ever said to me and I had got some great abuse from 'C' (stupid fucking slut being a personal favourite). Never had abuse like this from a guy made me stop and think so much and really question myself. Over and over I played it in my mind, so mortified, upset and embarassed.

Didier had told me that I had bad breath!!!!


Yep, you read that right. I brush x2 a day, floss and chew plenty of gum. Jesus, how had this happened. Why hadn't any of my friends ever told me about this problem? How could I ever kiss a guy again?! I was so embarassed but I had to know the thruth and so the next day I called my great friend K (she gives tough love) to ask her if it was true. She of all people would tell me if it was. As I mumbled the awful 'Do I have bad breath?' down the phone I could feel my face burning. Thankfully I got the answer I wanted to hear: 'Whaaat?! No you do not!!! What a fucking arsehole! Do you really think I would let you go on dates with guys if you had bad breath?' K tells it like it is and even though she had to reassure me several more times I believed her.

Needless to say, I didn't contact/hear from Didier again.

But here is the lesson in this...if you ever want to make someone really paranoid, self-doubting and embarrased - tell them they have bad breath, not everyone is as lucky to have such a straight talking and honest friend as me!

Encounter 4 - Didier, Part 1

I don't remember much about the very first night that I met Didier except that I was pretty hammered after indulging in too much wine in a bar. My friend had been talking to his friend, we shared a quick kiss and the next day I discovered this verrrry handsome new guy added to my facebook friends. He worked in advertising for a very well known French company, seemed utterly adorable, very sweet and very French!
About a week after we met he popped up on my Facebook and started to chat away, en francais bien sur! Chatting to cute guys online is a great way to practice your French and is far more enjoyable than paying lots of money for boring French lessons. However...my French isn't so great and it led to a little misunderstanding. Didier asked if I would like to meet the next night for a drink and of course I did. He said something about a wine cave near his place and we arranged where and when to meet the next night. So the next night we met up and I have to confess that he was shorter than what I remembered, at 160cm I am not exactly tall so it is bad news when I think that a guy is short. Nonetheless he was really hot with green eyes and floppy hair...even if he was sans designer stubble! He started to lead the way to where we were going and led me right to his front door! I was pretty confused - I thought we were going to a bar and yes, I know it was stupid but I got good vibes off the guy so rather than admit my pathetic level of French I decided just to see it through and when we entered his flat and he produced a lovely bottle of expensive champagne I knew I wouldnt regret that decision.
I love being in peoples homes for the 1st time, I think you can tell so much about them. In my home I have photos on the wall, loads of books and DVDs, cute cards sent from my family and you can tell I like pink. Didiers place was minimal to perfection. There was no books/cd's or anything like that lying around, it was impossible to tell what his interests were! He wasn't from Paris and he asked me why I was single, I asked him same thing. His answer? "It is so difficult to find a wife in Paris, these women are very cold. But I am very glad I have met you"...like just whoa!!! What can a girl even reply to that?! However I just smiled and drank my champagne and tried not to get weirded out. After the 1st bottle of champage Didier regretfully told me that all he had in his kitchen was red wine. Me, not being a fan of red wine told him that water would be fine but nooooo.... He told me to put my shoes on and follow him....
As I followed him down the stairs and towards the cellars I was beginning to wonder if my instincts had failed me and this guy was infact a crazy serial killer who was going to chop me up into tiny pieces. I was pleasantly surprised to find this wasn't the case and was shocked by what I saw: in his small cave there was wine EVERYWHERE!!! I do not exaggerate when I say there was hundreds of bottles. There was wine glasses, books on wine, wine in boxes, wine in bags, bottles of wine and champagne just sitting on the floor...as Didier selected another nice bottle of champagne (worth like 60euros, I totally checked it out in a shop a few days later!) I could only stand open mouthed. I'm sure I must've looked very attractive! We headed back upstairs and well, after two bottles of champagne I'm sure you can figure out the rest. I wont go into detail except to say that yet again there was a plentiful stash of condoms right beside the bed,,,,
The next orning I woke up at 9am (urgh, so early!) to find that Didier was already up, dresssed and eating breakfast. Not wanting him to think I was a lazy cow I got up and did my best to pretend that I was a) not hungover and b) perfectly used to getting up at such a ungodly hour at the weekend. Here I witnessed Didiers 1st weirdo Frenchism...he was drinking his tea out a bowl! Like a breakfast bowl that a person would eat their cereal out of. Why do French people do that?! Why not just have 2 mugs of tea? He also seemed to have endless amounts of energy and enthusiasm and weirdo Frenchism number 2 - he always said 'hup!'...Just.dont.get.it! Anyway, he told me that he was up early because he had to go and meet a friend. I figured that I may as well take advantage of him while I had him and dragged him back to the bedroom to make him late. When I finally allowed him to escape my clutches he told me to stay in bed and to stay for as long as I wanted. Very trusting you might think but as I said this guy seemed to have nothing but wine for belongings...
So he said a very sweet goodbye and left me lying in his bed and despite his strange Frenchisms and apparent search for a wife it was another a bientot to another handsome Frenchman.