Eurotrash Birthday Night

I must write this in one unfailing stretch...Just woken up, and head feels like porridge... just had idiot problems hooking the stereo up to the computer, just so that I can listen to Wimoweh, the Burt Kaempfert version, over and over again... where in the monkey's dong is the power cord?

Maybe you picked this up last night, but this girl was in full party mode, ready to tear up the town and wiggle in her sexy duds. While I stopped posting at around 8pm, it wasn't till 9:30 that I took off, high-tailed, from the house. Let's just say that Ana and I may be very wonderful cute girls, but we are most definitely impaired when it comes to navigation. I remember standing at the door seeing this grey car doing the most skidding impatient reverse, all the way up my street! It's a one way narrow street! Holy Cow! It's Ana... and so I wave her down and run, which, in the monster cream boots is quite a thing.

Outfit Rundown: I went for full Eurotrash lineup (this should please you Mike). Black Unitard (is still cool), tall ruffled neck collar piece attached with a Simpson's "DON'T HAVE A COW MAN" Bart button, Green and Yellow New Wave long sleeve t-shirt, white paint splattered jean mini-skirt, the boots, my Eton-ish vertically striped red and grey cardigan.

So I jump in the car, and the poor thing is all frazzled and giggly from being lost for the better part of the night. We chipper chatter. Scoubs isn't back from Geneva and nobody has any news. After Ana tells me that she too thinks something is wrong, we decide to phone Herbie, instead of Scoubs (logic!), and the fact that he's not home leads as confirmation that Scoubs is kidnapped somewhere in Switzerland, tied up in melted cheese strings, or hanging on top of a gondolier? This speculation continues till it becomes obvious that we are lost lost lost, and then, the usual thing with me, I give bad directions, we almost head straight into the drink, reverse just in time, and manage to keep on course... and magically find Julie's house, which is next to the Canal L'Ourq, near the Villette.

We buzz the door, walk up the stairs, a thump all the way to the fourth floor, where the chocolate door is slightly open. Just as I put my hand on the door, it swings broad and wide, suddenly showing a screaming brunette. FUCK! I start screaming too! It's Scoubs! She's BACK! ahahaha, she really got me good, I was so scared and then ridiculously happy! So happy, she's back. We had a quadruple kiss, and I pile into the apartment. Les filles sont toutes là, with the exception of Gaelle. Kissing, birthdaying, spreading the Quality Street Love, endless flowing bottles of Cremant d'Alsace, eurotrash music, and two men! One of them is this scruffy guy, whose name I have already mostly forgotten, Flemant? Pas sûr.

At first, things are civilized. We are having Cremant, yes. And conversation is smooth and warm. Then, started to get toasty, and the tiramisu was delicious, as was the Charlotte, and cake is taking edge off alcohol, so like a smart girl, I switch to Zubrowska, Vodka, swished with Cremant. (Basically buffalo-grass-vodka and almost-champagne, mixed). Julie looks up at me, with her little curly moppet head and says,

-You're gonna be sick
-no I'm not
-Yes you are
-I'm not sick now
-So?
-So there!

And hobble back, and suddenly the intercom rings and I'm closest so I run to buzz them in... somebody asks for Julie... NOPE! NO JULIE HERE! And then Julie takes the intercom from my hands and lets them in. The door pops open and guess who it is? VOIN! ahahahaa... circle is complete. Voin comes complete with his own entourage, as always, especially fresh from a fashion show. There's some skinny guy who always looks nervous and nice from Nantes, but he's the type of guy I always inevitably forget his name. There's Marushka, the sexy diva fashion-artist... she's the dark Archbishop of this outfit called the Andrea Crews. There's also this guy, Jozepf, a sexy MF, all messy curly haired and vaguely pudding like face. He's one of those guys who's sexy from interaction, not from vision. In a little over 15 minutes, all the girls are swooning from this guy, who looks really close to a Russian Mama. Same way of dressing as Voin, this gypsy-ass black pants and skanky black t with vague layers of nondescript yet patterned sweats over.

So, finally, after the swooning from the other girls, I myself am NOT affected but enjoy watching the spectacle as it is, I ask Voin what the deal is with Jozepf, and why he has all the girls on the milk van.

-What's the dealy-o avec Jozepf?
-He's cool.
-But look! All the girls are going mad crazy! What is he?
-He's EVERYTHING!

Nice one Voin. We both cackle madly, because, as we both know, only Scorpios can really understand what "everything" really is. For those not in the know: EVERYTHING means super extra meltdown on the creampie front from extreme stinging star in the eye because the smooth inky flow is forever on his side and he never falls out of bed clumsily and his ass is probably hotter than mercury... or something related.

Christ, we have an EVERYTHING on our hands! But, not to worry, this girl is with her man, the Voin, so everything is delicious and lovely. The cake is flying and suddenly there's modern dance! Julie is hoisted in the air and it's all last flying scene from Dirty Dancing. The calisthenics continue... and strangely enough, at some point I am pushed onto the couch and more girls fall on top of me. And then I get up, and it repeats itself. Eventually, while I'm standing, I see Scoubs smattering kisses all over Voin while he under... so fall on top! Then we're all kissing Voin, and he ends up burying his head in my chest... he's sad... he loves me and he doesn't want me to leave, even if it's just for a vacation. He thinks I'm not coming back. We embrace. The boy will never leave my heart.

After we scramble off the couch, Guns and Roses comes on, and suddenly there's all this mad dancing in a circle, and I get pulled in, and then the heel pulls out of my foot halfway through and the whole friggin circle in arms piles on top of me, on the g'damn couch again. The couch is now broken. I'm sure.

When I get up, and have more Cremant, I take some time off to talk with Scoubs, by the balcony. Intense talk, about love and people, and time, and place. I feel gutted. I am gutted... if I'm going crazy and mad storming around, it's because I can't bare it anymore... emotionally, the hurricane is taking it's toll. But, I'm also mad drunk, so being weepy is the same as screaming and jumping on a rabbit's head.

So we head back in... and lo and behold, there's cake smashed all over Voin's face... I run over and he dares me to lick it off, and I start eating his face (I know somebody has photos of this because I saw the flash), and then somebody pulls me off and smashes cake in my face... There's still cake stains on my unitard, and I was still scraping bits of it off my face at the end of the night... was subjected to same licking procedure.

Finally, it's time to leave. Apparently there's a party to go to, at Cabaret Sauvage. It is Manue's birthday, so we go where she wants. It's just on the northern point of the Villette, and being on the midpoint of the canal, decide to walk. So begins the most delicious evening snow walk I've ever had in Paris. There was a nary a soul outside, by the canal, and there was snow lining the edge. We laughed and stomped and Jozepf threw the first snowball... after which there was infernal retribution and the slush/snow and ice went flailing around all over the place. While my throw is strong and fast, it has little accuracy with my fitted coat, which impedes my curve. However, still manage to nail Voin and Jozepf with intermittent regularity. I'm Canadian... I've grown up with snowball fights (though the last one did leave me with a black eye).

We battle and flop in the snow all the way up... Ana tossing some good ones in. We mount the bridge to cross the canal, and it's magical... the lights are all low on the snow, and our faces glimmer from the reflected light... then on the other side, there's a fairy path, little snowy hills and a winding road, all lit up with gnome candles, all the way to the door. All the girls have dates, men on their arms, we picked up randoms on the way, and we're ready to get in.

But it's 20EU at the door! NO WAY! I never pay for a party, let alone 20Eu. I check the old money-holder and there's a wee 5Eu30Centimes looking back. Nobody else wants to pay to get in so we mill about aimlessly in front of the door. Vague talking, laughing, because all of us are mad hammered. And Voin and Marushka talk their way in to find the organizer of the party. Ten minutes later, Voin comes back... he says he doesn't know. I'm ready to turn around and catch a cab home but NOOOOO.... Marushka pops her head out, Voin screams my name, and suddenly we're inside.

A cavernous slightly art-decoish like place... and it's deeply clippy electronic on the front, and, like most french crowds, hardly anyone is dancing. Then there's a backside... and when we head back, it's like a mad circus ring, with the dj at the head. The music was shit, but we drank our beers, and laughed and talked, and ate saucisson sandwiches. Soon enough, I was spinning and tip tapping around the dancefloor... and the legs and hips still know how to wiggle... somehow. But, the DJ sucks too hard... SUNSET! and so we leave... and I walk all along the snowlined bridge, with Ana and Scoubs, who take me back to Stalingrad where I catch a cab and in less than 10 minutes, I'm home... in bed.