LEAVE NOW...it smells like onions.

so...after weird last couple of days, have come to startling yet expected conclusion that being repressed in the north of france for the last two years has turned me into a voracious Party-Panther. gaining some sense of equilibrium by giving myself at least two days a week to recover from riding around Paris like a maniac. Luckily, my bulgarian escort has gone away to Bilbao to make art for the next 10 days...which gives me just enough time to plan my wedding, get my dress made, and regain good form on suddenly problem-prone skin. (not to mention attack now desperate laundry situation)

but...before we become sedate, must talk about weird pachenga incident.

went out on Saturday night for usual art opening brouhahas. Voin stopped by the house to pick me up and one look at his miami beach circa-92 raincoat gave me the fashion willies. Brought out the fucking unitard and souped up some wacked out NYDanceSchool in the 70s outfit, coupled with absolutely smart and ravishing black macintosh and audrey hepburn shoes. So sweet.

Then we jumped on our bikes and started to head off to Yvonne Lambert Gallery, except got tackled by brutal end of summer typhoon, at which point I lost all brakes on the bike and had to slalom down the stupid menilmontant hill. Finally got to the gallery, which was super swank, and managed to talk gallery boy into slipping our coats over the heater in the back. Finally, armed with bordeauxs and saucisson, we managed to take in most of the show, and talk to some people...gallery boy very very cute with messed up rainbow sweatshirt and nasty black jeans...too polish immigrants in etobicoke...so wet. Showed me Vik Muniz (his show...diamond divas and caviar monsters) and introduced me to bitchy NYfags. Everyone speaks bad english in Paris. Also saw legendary stylist from the 80s in weird transparent bag boots with jean shorts and jewish metal belt??? Limits anyone???

went to Louise Weis street for monthly opening bonanza, where all the little fashionable artsies go to show face. All shows very very miserable and bad...voin got yelled for touching the art...fucking stupid sweatshop rubber boots. Met up with lots of friends there and was spontaneously bored. Wondering what the fuck is going on that we have to support this kind of nonsense, expensive wine and nothing to say.

So, started looking for a new party, which is when the name Pachenga showed up. I don't have a fucking clue what this girl's name is. Just got referred to the party by one of the glassbox boys, who said, well, it's a house party but you can come. Unfortunately didn't grab address but after very minor searching, managed to find out what the whole deal was...except...watch out, Olivier said "you must bring a bottle of wine." What the fuck??? got scared. so voin and I take off on bikes, find the address, and manage to scam our ways through the downstairs door. But, whoops, at the door to the apartment, am greeted by said 'pashmina' and have to give bisous. She looks at me confusedly as Voin and I are trying to get a handle on what is actually going on inside. And then it hits us...it's a fucking private dinner party. The lights are super bright, there a small collection of people around a table and we know only one of them, and he didn't invite us. shit shit shit. Voin turns around on cue and says in hysterical loud whisper "LEAVE NOW!!!" Turn around and try to get out with Pashmina hanging on tail asking us what's wrong, what's going on...and say have to go downstairs and find a telephone...voin is running and screaming all the way down the stairs. Finally get outside and can feel weird edge of panic attack moving away. flee to nearest bar, the pop-in, where, after scamming some beers, start to feel less weird and slightly warm about successful fleeing manoueveur. Figure out our double reaction: while I was getting fucked up over the bad lighting, Voin got a panic attack over smell of onions and crazy phrase ringing in head 'you must bring a bottle.'

Find more parties and eventually get home at 5 am, after stupid industrial party filled with mad people and voin kept screaming in my ear "I'm so tired of lesbians on ecstasy."

wake up the next morning to obvious headache and bad sickness in stomach. Receive a weird SMS from friend asking me what the fuck happened last night. Turns out everybody saw Voin and I fleeing like desperate lepers from the party...and turns out everybody, in some remote way, knew us. Nobody could figure out the reason for crazy turnaround and thought we had turned into some mad party couple that couldn't go in for completely unexplainable reasons.

So, after short two weeks in Paris, my reputation already going down the toilet. But, thash the stuff of legends my love.