I blackballed myself with B.O.!

Oh god, another wasted night. When will the hurting stop?!!
Have I become secretly blackballed by a certain group of artists? Are the weird looks and half smiles real? Did I really smell that bad? Is my hair shit? I just wanna have fun!! Why is it so hard?

Day was already retarded from last night's blowout. Today, after a preliminary go at booking the place for the party, was rejected. Anabelle might have a couple of solutions, but the Friday party is looking like a heavy washout. Why? It's because we're all too busy and tired to occupy ourselves with booking a bar, even if it's only for one night for the birthdays of 5 people. How do you say Scorpio Losers Club. I'm so depressed about this.

Secondly, was very smelly from last night, and tonight, at the party for the magazine launch, when the funky music came on and the heavy sweating began, realized I reeked like Madame Tatiana, the oldest lady gorilla at the zoo. Putting my jumper on top only made me sweat more, even though it protected others from my odour. Eventually, in desperate fit to stop turning into jello pudding, stripped off jumper, only to have a circle of space build in between me and the others.

Now, being smelly at a party is acceptable if everyone's a bit gross and smelly. But they weren't. THEY were all Paris fashionable types, in their dirty looking clothes but smelling so much more like lavender. Even nasty pit hair of Tania was sexier then my on again off again sweater act. Maybe that's why I'm being blackballed. Gawd, I blackball myself!

Of course it was Voin's birthday, so we wanted it to be special. I think he had a really good time, with Tania and all the Amsterdam chicks around, but he was also playing shepherd to wandering lesbian sheep, which you know is not a good career choice. At the end I apologized for my stinky mood...and threaded off with head hung low from the parties.

I hate it when I can't get out of the funk. Of course, once home, met up with Dacnar, my lovely husband who I haven't seen since last afternoon. He doesn't go out to parties. He likes to stay at home, or do really nerdy things, like go watch science films. Tonight he found something really fascinating, a screening of old science films from this ancient scientific committee. Three of their board members passed away this summer alone, and Dacnar was the only one in the crowd not wearing Depends.

Turns out the films were made by Paul de Roubaix, father of Francois de Roubaix. Francois de Roubaix is a legendary film composer. He makes these little quirky french tunes to go with sitcoms, or series. They are the most delicious and fantastical little melodies. My favourite song is La Scoumone, which starts with some funny spring sprung sounds, and then moves into a dippy little organ tune, so whimsical it can make a jaded six year old seem like my cutest fluffy bunny wabbit. So Dacnar gets the good shit...he also managed to take in the Paris Saint-Germain at Marseille football game, which sounded like a dramatic finish. I wished I'd stayed home, taken a shower, and tucked into the night with him.

Or maybe this is the curse of married life. Like, when you stay at home with your lover, you have a good time. When you go out with your lover, you have a good time. When you go out without your lover, you have a good time. When you go out two nights without your lover, you lose and have shitty smelly night which ruins your party reputation FOREVER.

Oh, and almost forgot to talk about wacko friend of Etienne's, some dude called Wolfgang (or something really german). Wolfgang is the only boy who really hit on me tonight...like HE'S THE ONLY ONE!!! What the fuck happened? But then realized he was super drunk, kept asking where were my gigantic biggie boobies (evidently the only Samantha he knows is Samantha FOX...so obviously he's old), and then started to do some heavy humping wiggle. I danced along for a couple of moments then realized something truly awful. Not only was he the only guy hitting on me at the party, he was The Drunkest Idiot Boy at the party.

I'm cursed.

On final good note, met up with Herbie tonight. You remember Herbie? He's the Scoob's friend, the guy who I said made money out writing the joke-of-the-day. (ok, I exaggerated, he's just an editor at a newspaper). Anyways, haven't heard from him in ages. Turns out the boy has been working his tidy ass off, which has prevented him from having even a kind of real social life. He's bloody fed up, so now he's on leave. But what did that guy do with his free time!!!??? He moved in with his girlfriend, the Merciful Mystery, to an apartment just down the street... like literally 5 minutes down the hill. Awesome! Neighbours! So went out for long extended drinking session with him...It was only supposed to be one beer, but that idea got tossed out at 4:40pm. Tottered off to the Louvre at 8pm. Herbie always starts out like a wise guy and turns into a elastic faced clown...he just needs a little gin juice for the engine and the devil leaks out.

But I don't remember 3 hours going by.... Maybe that's why the rest of the night was stinky, it was because I spent the rest of the last 6 hours sobering up! Oh my god...YUCK!!!!

So no party on Friday, we are all big losers, and I'm turning into an alcoholic. Life is shit. I should just stay at home. Oh god, I'm so depressed. But now that I've taken a shower, and updated the hairdo, should be able to salvage some kind of reputation... or not. B.O. is the type of thing that's easy to label someone with...AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! RUINED!