January 29, 2004
"gueule de bois": french for hangover | joanna
I'm back. Officially.
Returned from my holiday on Tuesday, but woke up yesterday completely addled by lack of hangover. Confusion persisted, so today marks official re-entry. And despite hitting the Michelob Ultras last night in attempt to counterbalance Ash's regular ham and cheese and bread and beer and vodka force-feedings (forced, I swear, uh huh), I am once again clear-headed. So, for posterity and your amusement, everything I can recall from the last very very fuzzy two weeks in Paris...
Day One
Arrive on time at Charles de Gaulle. Collected by harried friend Tim who in one breath greets me warmly, expresses gratified surprise that I managed to cram three pairs of shoes and a week's wardrobe into my wheeled carry-on, and insists I do my New York Walk through the terminal despite the fact that I think I'm gonna keel over from having my first hit of nicotine since I snuck a smoke eight hours before in the ladies' toilet at JFK (and came thisclose to being busted for my bud-light-infused idiocy). Speed out of the airport. Destination: Gare du Nord. Make it just in time to see Ash's train from Amsterdam pull into platform. Feel like I should be sporting a smart little hat and white gloves. May have even kicked up my leg when we kissed, not sure. Maccas (Australian for McDonalds) for take-out, then to our rented pad in the 3rd. Classic Parisian set-up except for one thing: gayest apartment ever. Blown-up Vesace ad over the WC, CD collection featuring "Gay Classics", "Queer Hits", and other gems. Nude pencil drawing opposite the bed that turned out to be a rendering of our lessor's ass. Tacit promise to ourselves and each other to slide the pied a terre's Kinsey Scale rating from six to at least three. Shift it to two before heading to Lizard Lounge for a pint to commemorate having met there exactly six months prior (awww), then Tim's place in the 19th for drinks, then Café Cheri(e), then... somewhere.
Day Two
Two Aspegics, two shots of Duty Free Kettle One, one hand-towel soaked in cold water.
Stanley Greene photo exhibition, Buddha Bar for dinner, Café Charbon for drinks.
Day Three
Uh. Oh yeah, Tim worked at Lizard Lounge so we must have gone there. Memory fuzzy.
Day Four
See above. Oh, wait, was this the night we met up with Alex's sister Katherine? Well, we did that and it was cool.
Day Five
Spend the day traversing the city while Ash and Tim cover French reality TV phenom/douchebag Nalle for Match TV.
Eventually catch up with them at Man Ray -- where I'm granted access by saying I've got something oh-so-important in my bag that must get to Tim -- for Yumi Katsura's couture bridal show in which douchebag takes first stab at extending his quinze minutes by walking as a groom. Genetic freak show that is walking hangers made all the more interesting by makeshift padded-catwalk that grows progressively lumpier by models repeatedly almost tripping. Patience finally pays off when the ancient designer herself -- escorted by aged, barefoot, forcefully ebullient Brigitte Nielson -- falls flat on her face while her Amazonian squire tries not to lose what cool she's got left (and it ain't much). More drinking ensues at various establishments, including old haunt and Lizard Lounge sister, Stolly's.
Day Six
Grocery shopping at Chinese supermarket for Curry Night foodstuffs. Head to friend's flat in the 2nd. Assist Ash with his (in)famous curry. Drink beer, Zubrowka Vodka, wine. Shit. Leave just in time.
Day Seven
Hmm. Oh yeah. Bar in the 5th. Yeah. Shebeen. Reminded me of New York.
Day Eight
Ash's birthday. Kong for champagne, then downstairs to Lo Sushi, where their marriage of internet access and raw fish had us at hello kitty. Turned out that the chopstick-operated consoles also allow diners to communicate with each other via instant message. After about ten minutes of lewd banter between ourselves, received a message from a frenchie across the belt that was just a tad beyond my linguistic skills. But then, "Hi Pretty" comes in from number 39, a guy further down the snaking train who Ash referred to as Fat Frenchie when he was seated with his back to us. While I'm responding to 39 that my neighboring boyfriend number 58 will not be happy with these advances, Ash sends his own message, loud and clear. Numbers 38 and 40 get in on the action, and the next thing I know number 39 reveals himself to be a (trash-talkin') "gentleman" from the Lone Star State who's ready to take this outside. Ash retorts that Fat Texan won't even look him in the eye... but I will, and do. We leave before chopsticks start flying, laughing our asses off. Head to Oberkampf for birthday celebrations with the gang. End up after hours at Nouveau Casino (just behind Cafe Charbon) where Ash and I immediately begin shouting at the DJ -- unbeknownst to each other -- "You suck!" (me) "Get off the stage!" (him). It works: the music changes. Last thing I remember is dancing to Tainted Love.
Day Nine
Visit Colette for new cords for razor blade bracelet. Huff about being charged for them this time. Cop to Ash that yes, I could get the "string" anywhere, but, as he suspected, I enjoy making the pilgrimage despite/because of the store's absurdity. Tried to dissuade Ash from checking bracelet's price point to no avail. Brief are-you-crazy conversation ensues, thwarted by admission that yes, in fact, I clearly am. Birds of a feather blah blah blah.
Day Ten
Extend trip by two days after deciding that we hadn't really seen Paris. Sephora run for (mildly, with the dollar as it is) discounted Caudalie products, Ash placated by red lipstick shopping -- just. Am way too easily persuaded to "walk like an egyptian" down the Champs Elysées, photographed mid-step before gargantuan Louis Vuitton trunk. Lizard Lounge. Beer, vodka. Beer. Pizza.
Days Eleven and Twelve
Oh, man, short term memory is shot.
Day Thirteen
Shop Habitat in Bastille, mail postcards (last day, of course), Bottle Shop for Scrabble, mint tea, and eventually... beer. Amazing dinner at Chez Paul. Tim's house for Champagne send off, Cafe Oz to, uh, celebrate National Australia Day -- one day after the bar commemorated the "holiday".
Day Fourteen
Double espressos at Clown Bar (in painted face of clown-phobia) before heading to the airport. Arrive early enough to down a few Amstels served, unfortunately, not by our favorite CDG bartender. Fly home to NYC solo, Ash having decided to get in an extra day for a few rounds of booze and Bags-talk with his boyfriend Tim. Easy landing but almost die as taxi sleds its way to the city on snow and ice. Meet Alex for a few rounds at our local... pass out thinking, as usual, I desperately need a vacation from my vacation.
related entries:july 14th 2006 | missus hamburger
franks bar and restuarant, vienna | mister hamburger
nick burns on nicks and razor burn