Paris is Gay (in the post modern sense), an Android drove me home, and my life at the Chez Cambronne

OK, so anyways, I'll try and get back to where I started the other day.... p.s. this shit’s gonna be mad long. To summarize, I had such a good time in Paris that I’m still a little depressed being back in Horb which is having a snowstorm.

Last Thursday, the German version of Karneval (or Fasching) started...basically it means we have to listen to people getting wasted outside listening to loud techno songs while we try to learn in class. Naturally, after class ended at 3 we started getting wasted. I had bought a ticket for Paris the day earlier and, as usual, the entire thing was very haphazardly planned. So we're just mulling around the city and there's hundreds of people out...there's this part where outside of the old-ass Town Hall, all these fools come out dressed as old tyme officials and do political jokes that are hard to understand. The mayor (who we met two weeks ago) also came out and did some shit that was hard to understand...it was weird.

Then we went to our new regular shot, that old witch's prison I mentioned a bit back...that shit was fun cause we haven't all hung out in a while. After a bit I checked my schedule, and being all wasted and shit, TOTALLY misread it…and practically had a panic attack. I was positive my train for Stuttgart left in 5 minutes…however, once I returned to reason I realized that no, I still had time. Regardless, I was nearly late anyway. We had to run to Kirstin’s apartment to get my shit, and then we fucking practically sprinted to the Bahnhof where as I rolled up to the track, my train was just arriving. Some “Whew! Close call!”-type shit.

40 minutes later I was in Stuttgart and had to wait for about an hour and a half for my night train to Paris. So for about 45 minutes I just wandered around with my gigantic fucking backpack, through totally empty streets around the train-station alone…still drunk. It was terrible. This picture I took sums it up: empty and blurry

There was a lot of time spent then just drifting like a fucking literary figure around the train station, at one point honestly just standing in the middle of the station motionless looking at people. When that got too much, I went and sat next to this old guy chain-smoking in the McDonalds. The train-ride to Paris was wholly uneventful, although I kept getting informed of dramatic revelations via text message – so basically that means that all the other people in my compartment who were trying to sleep heard me a) fidgeting with my blanket and fluffing my pillow, b) my phone vibrating loudly against the wall, and c) me giggling or guffawing at the news.

I rolled into Paris a total mess, I slept all fucked up on my shoulder. Plus, now I had to get used to not knowing what the fuck people were saying – I’ve gotten very comfy bullshitting around in German and don’t even get flustered anymore when I have to approach some fool. Stephanie had sent me very specific instructions on how to get to her apartment but I had postponed printing them out and then ultimately forgot. Then I had planned on using the Internet terminals over at Yorma’s at the train station in Stuttgart – but I forgot that on account of being all wasted and shit. I only had Stephanie’s old number for the phone she foolishly lost in Italy. I was extremely low on minutes so I didn’t want to call Ben for the directions cuz it’d cost like 4 Euros. Instead I opted to walk around the seedy ass area around Gare de l’Est to find an Internet café that might be open. Yeah so that didn’t even come remotely close to happening. So instead I wandered through the dark streets looking over my shoulder waiting to get stabbed. Eventually I found a café, but it was closed till 9 in the morning (and it was currently 7:30). I decided I might as well go find Gare de Nord as I remember it being bigger – fuggin’ so I hike over there and have to practically tip-toe over a colony of homeless and gracefully leap over small creeks of piss before getting there. Getting impatient, I finally call Ben (who’s on his way – he’s in Turin), he SMS’ me Steph’s new number, I call Steph, and get the name of her Metro stop.

45 minutes later I’m standing on the corner of Volontaires and Vaugirard using some kid from North Carolina’s map (he’s equally lost trying to find his hostel) After one brief diversion, I fucking show up and the good times officially begin.

This whole blog bullshit should not be a chronicle of a bunch of inside jokes and obscure references that only roughly four people understand, but that is precisely what is about to happen…if only a testament to the good times that were had.

So anyways, I get buzzed into this pad while Steph is initially the worst host ever. Get this she goes “we’re going back to sleep, I’ll leave the door open” Luckily for both of us, the door was open, but she was not sleeping. My only request on the phone earlier, the humble “do you think you can make me a pot of coffee” was fulfilled with the following: an empty mug, a half empty container of Nescafe instant coffee, and an (empty) water heater – I guess it was up to me to put them all together and have my wish come true. Showing up in the Chez Cambronne (as their apartment is called) also triggered a 3 day cigarette binge from which my throat still hurts and even seeing someone on the street smoking makes me nauseous (shaw right :-/) Because some other NYU clowns were sleeping in the (gigantic) living room, we had to hang out in Steph’s room, and then I met her roomie Agatha who is extremely charming and affable. After those two clowns left to go to Versailles, we transferred our base of operation (that being smoking and drinking coffee and talking about bird flu) over to the living room where we sat on couches. This was to be my primary activity in my time in Paris, and as I understand, is the most common pastime at Chez Cambronne. Some might be disappointed to hear that, arguing that spending time in Paris ought to be spent lounging on the banks of the Seine, wistfully exploring the halls of the Louvre, and falling in love on the steps of Montpassarne – but lemme tell you THIS: that shit is gay (in the postmodern sense ß will be explained later). I’ve already been in Paris and seen all that shit and this was about lounging and talking to fun and interesting people. Later, A and S’s other roommate, Abby came downstairs and joined the paaaaaaaaawty. We had lots of laughs together, and that trend would continue until I left. Eventually I got tired of lounging in my own filth and took a shower. It was at this point that I broke Stephanie’s shower. However, my disappointment in myself did not last long because I heard Ben’s nasally voice emanating through the apartment and knew that he had arrived from Italy. We hugged and I got yelled at because I was naked and dripping water everywhere.

Ben’s stoopit because he was mad tired when he showed up. We went downstairs to the bakery to get some sammwhiches, Orangina, and some looong johns (that’s another inside joke that cause some serious laughter). After that he napped for a while, while the ladies went out to get groceries. When Ben came to, we went out and started walking around Paris seeing the sights and sounds – and more than anything cracking each other up by talking in a funny accent that nobody else (except Melissa Talaske and I suspect Abby) enjoys.

We finally found the Museum of Modern Art, which is the one I’ve never been to (Louvre, Pompidou and Musee d’Orsay are old news for me) and explored that shit for a while. Art is gay (ITPMS) we agreed and after a few hours in that museum we started walking back home, taking cool photographs, talking about life and the people we know, seeing neat parts of Paris, and of course – fuck, doing that accent. (“whaddaya doin’ kid? You, you playing’ with dose’ boids? Don’t you read the news, you don’t read the news do you.” When we got to the house and upstairs, the girls were making us dinner on the stove. We nearly shit from joy and appreciation. This feeling totally increased when they were like “get some wine from the table” and the table was totally decked out with salads, a tablecloth, candles, and both white and red wines. It was unreal and I was literally happy beyond belief in that moment. After dinner we retreated back to the couches and started getting wasted. We were pre-pre-gaming for a party that had a “Middle School Dance” theme, with a sub-theme of “Dancing under the Stars.” The girls even made posters with dancing rules for the shit. After getting well drunk we went over to this joint on the other side of town and hung out with the NYU cats that lived there. I was a total stranger but I tried to make friends by standing by the window looking cool. It worked OK. Danielette D. from NYC showed up and I knew her so I latched on. We eventually got kicked out cause all these NYU kids live in buildings that predate the fucking Revolution so they creak and are loud as hell, and naturally, the neighbors started shitting.

We roamed through the streets for quite some time until we all met at this Irish pub dance joint and went pretty crazy. By this point we were fucking unbelievably smashed – Ben forced me and Steph into a triple kiss and his beard hurt. In the course of this night we also managed to probably offend a gay guy (one of several) we were hanging out with with our constant gay jokes – now the trick is here, that our gay jokes are a used with an ironic touch exclusively in situations that they don’t make sense, in essence, in parody of those that actually use the word “gay” to mean “this sucks.” But that’s sometimes a fuzzy distinction because we were dressed like tools and ultimately I tried to explain that we were using the word “gay” in a “post-modern sense.” Why and what? I do not know.

We eventually got split up…on the street at around 3 in the morning I made friends with Arab hash dealers and swear fo’ god nearly bought coke from them (that for sure would have been fucking baking soda and a bit of arsenic for flavor) I managed a mad hit off a spliff that put me over the edge. Me and Steph ended up hoofing it alone until we found a cab. Now let me try and explain this part as it is another inside joke that spanned the weekend. One of the last things I said in the cab before I passed the fuck out in Steph’s lap and then lost my favorite hat was “Steph, our driver’s like an android from the future.” That might not make sense at face value, but let me explain: This motherfucker was a muscular, handsome black man, with a tight turtleneck made of synthetic materials, shaved head, perfect posture – and most importantly, one of those Bluetooth things with flashing blue LED lights coming out of his ear – in other words a fucking implant or some shit. I’m telling you, if anybody from 1982 saw this guy, you’d be positive he was prolly a machine. But nobody understands, they just laugh…

When we woke up the next day at like 10, I wanted to die. I was mad hungover and starving. I rolled out of bed and strapped shoes on bare feet and went to find a grocery store and a bakery. I felt like the biggest scumbag walking out of this apartment like a total junk fiend. People are walking with their families while I’m dragging my feet, practically with the shakes, muttering how its too bright in German even though the sun is nowhere to be seen. I found a grocery store, found this gigantic bottle of something call Special Breakfast that amounted to a warm, liquidy, smoothy, and after quite literally 15 minutes of searching, eggs. Then I bought bread, and cooked all that shit up and ate it back at home – yum. For a while we were in standard chain-smoking, coffee-drinking, making great jokes mode until Ben woke up. Then he joined in until Melissa Talaske and Micki Wilde, who were on Mich’s spring break rolled up to Paris. I had not known they were coming until the previous day so it was a nice surprise. Waiting for everyone to get ready, and Ben’s hangover to subside (mine had mostly subsided), Abby, Agatha, and I hit a joint that took two rolls to get right. Then I walked around all goofed up with Ben and Melissa and we took the Metro to Saint Michel and Notre Dame. We took all that shit in, and then walked along the Seine to go to the Musee d’Orsay which Ben wanted to see. It was closed however, and he got mad disappointed. Instead then we walked to and along the Champs Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe.

Finally, we got back and hung out for a bit before going out to dinner. We chose a spot in Saint Germain and me and Ben split snails to get a truly authentic experience. We were still real tired and decided not to drink too much, especially since Ben had a plain at Orly early in the morning. These chicks though…these chicks have a problem with the booze. Abby force fed me her Cola Light + Vodka concoction the entire way from dinner to this karaoke joint near Saint Michel. This place was filled with the most depressing people ever and we forced them to leave and take us somewhere fun after they sang fucking “I Will Survive” (they brought the house down though). We went to what is their favorite club, a Scottish joint called The Highlander that was filled with authentic Scots (all jubilant and shit cause Scotland had just beat England at the Four Nations Cup) The problem with this night was that Ben’s stoopit ass was wearing the same contacts for like 6 months in a row and pretty soon his eye was quite literally squeezing its way out of his head. We decided to start heading back at around 2 or so with a cab but walked nearly half way home before we found a jerk to drive us (no android this time)

The next morning I woke up to discover that Ben had, in most likelihood, missed his flight. He apparently left the house like 45 minutes before the shit took off and we couldn’t get a hold of him cause like me, he was out of minutes. Trying to put his pain out of my head, I left to go meet up with Mia from Chicago at Saint Michel. We hung out for most of the day catching up about shit and talking about the old country (Bosnia) We ate b-fast at some place that Steph had recommended called Breakfast in America that had sausages and scrambled eggs and shit – a rarity on this godforsaken continent. We also went to a train station so that I could actually buy my ticket back for Stuttgart – something I still had not done. Following that, we had a beer at some bar up by the Opera and then said goodbye as I had to pack. That did not take long and we spent the next hour hanging out at their house.

I will have to continue this tomorrow, unfortunately, as yet again, I am about to miss my bus. So long. I'll throw in a bunch of pictures as I've been slacking on that angle.