The City of YEAH WHATEVA

By: epluribusgeenum

Jul 22 2009

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Category: paris

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My personal flirting index here has grown exponentially since I’ve been eating more sweet stuff. That’s a graph whose X&Y axis probably don’t correspond at all in real life, but I’m going to assume it. And I mean I’m not the one who’s starting it. For the most part it comes from every direction, at least walks-of-life wise. Old, young, lazy-eyed, limpy, it matters not one bit. STORY TIME! Once I was drawing in my sketchbook at the Louvre; I had my headphones on and was clearly very engaged in what I was doing. Some creep-o came up and tried to strike a conversation with me. He looked harmless enough, at least to use for practicing my French! He turned out to be very forward and demanding and asked me to have a drink with him. Oh, how he kept asking and wouldn’t leave me alone! I immediately regretted allowing the conversation to start. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Listen, are you kidding me? I’m not stupid. You will probably turn out to be a murderer. And I really don’t want to be killed, thankyooooou.”

He didn’t even laugh! He immediately started defending himself. Dead giveaway. (Hehe! Dead giveaway. Okay that’s not really funny.) “Not everyone in Paris is dangerous you know!” This very convincing argument being followed by an unwelcome hand on the small of my back. Game over, monsieur.

“Look. I have a knife in my purse,” I lied.
(I didn’t, actually)
“Now please go f— yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

That was the first time I ever used “Va te faire foudre” to an actual French person and meant it!

He smiled, put up his hands defensively, and agreed to leave me alone. Except he only moved to a corner of the Louvre courtyard where he could watch me. DUDE! I can see you! I remember thinking. The “I’m officially scared” scale had reached new proportions. I put away my book and stared the creep down to make sure he knew that oh, I knew. He moved at least three times all within view of me; I wanted to be certain he knew I was watching HIS every move and squinted my eyes menacingly because it seemed appropriate for the occasion. If I had really been carrying a knife I would’ve liked to wield it in front of my no-nonsense face.

I don’t really know why I made it a point to do it but it seemed like that was the only thing I could do to make sure he wouldn’t follow me home because at that point I knew I had to walk home alone. In retrospect it was almost a rush. I mean, who did this guy think he was!  Scaring girls like that.  Besides. His clothes were less than sartorial, his hair was greasy, and even as an English speaker I knew his conversation was lacking.

The one time I’ve been hit on that I’ve actually enjoyed was a fellow fixed gear rider, but 1) he ruined my backward circle groove by skidding all up in my biznass, and 2) when I turned with the goal in mind of GLARING at whoever so rudely interrupted me, lo and behold was this smiley, cute guy on an even hotter chrome Fuji frame, and then he was off in a split second after that. Who knows if he thought I would chase him but.. that’s not my style.

Either way. I’m not here to find love. I doubt I could even spit my own eyelash-batting game too successfully in French; it’s difficult enough making jokes in another language! And I think this city isn’t where you find it…. that’s actually kind of foreign concept to me, to date someone like that. Instead, it’s where you come to celebrate it.

I do think it would be downright swell to come here when you absolutely have found the one and want to get your PDA on, like mad. I imagine togezzer we’d get fat on pastries, sit on a bench and make fun of unsuspecting people in English, and ride a tandem bike along the Seine.

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