The Magnetic Bed

It never ceases to surprise me that despite all sorts of strange and delirious experiences I put myself through, I always find a way to sleep in my own bed. Now, North Americans may find this statement strange, but no, here in France there is a great tradition of friends crashing over at friends. Everyone I know has a fold out couch/futon, and every time I've hit that special point in inebriation/fatigue/smoked out/or just being stuck somewhere far away and the metro has stopped, I've been offered accommodation.

But, no matter what is proposed, how attractive or terrible, I always deny the options, and crawl my sad way back. There has been two times, in the last 9 months, that this wasn't possible, but one was sleeping at Scoubs, and the other was a party that got way out of hand. But considering all the conditions, this statistic is a miracle.

Last night, after the dress rehearsal for the fashion show, I got a little drunk on the free-flowing rosé and two very cute boys. Then, stumbling out of the building, I met Danger Boy, his messy blond bangs framing well his sleepy face. Funnily enough, he's the first friend I've met who actually reads my blog regularly. None of my other friends do, and certainly none of my family. We had quick laughs, exchanged numbers, and then I moseyed off to a bar to watch the end of the football game.

Football game: in the mess and excitement of this fashion show, I almost forgot about the League of Champions Final. Suffice to say we managed to catch the end of the game, and the penalty shoot-out. Incredible! The Ballon D'Or, Shevchenko, misses his shot at the end of the game, giving Liverpool their Golden Cup. How beautiful was it? Well, I watched the rest of the game this morning and Moses Mary Malone, that's one helluva strange game. How Liverpool managed to come back, in the second half, after letting 3 goals go in, let alone make it look easier than Sunday Pizza Takeout, is one of the mysteries of the universe. One can only hope that this won't be the type of thing that haunts Shevchenko's career.

Back to me!
Ok, so I run out of the bar with Ana, and we head to my now regular hunting ground, Point FMR. We went there for some concert, but the concert was over. Puppy Boy was there, being puppyish and very silly. I love it when men lavish attention on me, but he really knows how to give compliments. Of course, I did spend most of the dress rehearsal, in a very tiny bathing suit, next to his Yellow Tennis Guy outfit. He had a very good look.

Drank more... smoked more... talked more... at some point felt the eyes doing slow shutter clicks. Puppy boy offered to give me a lift home. We both live in the same arrondissement and he has a wicked little scooter. But first we stopped at his place and watched his short film, which was definitely about sex, strange almost Jarmusch-esque moments, and shot on 16mm in a cemetery. The end line is really great. Not bad... the acting is kind of shit at points, but not bad at all...

And then, just when I thought I would just pass out on his couch, I made some mumbling sounds about catching a tacos, but was practically instantly whisked away, back home, on his scooter again. Merci, Puppy. And whaddaya know... the magnetic bed was there again.

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afternote:

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention but Puppy Boy is in a band called Metallico! Wack. His band mate's brother, a Stephen Jasso look-a-like, was so cute during the rehearsal, dressed as he was in a blue polka-dotted 80s skirt that was reworked as a windbreaker. Something bizarre yet adorable on his frame. Chatting him up, while the TV cameras rolled, I made a small mental note not to descend below the 22 years old perving line.

The fashion show is in the giant warehouse at rue du General LaSalle in the 19th, between Pyrenees and Belleville. Come at 9pm, on Friday, if you want to see this silly girl do her ostrich walk, Grace Jones style. It's for Andrea Crews, this art/fashion collective run by Marussia. They rework vintage clothing and rework them for new pieces. Most of the work is far from being finished, but it's fun and silly to pretend to be a model.

And tonight, don't forget, I'm showing my film at Le Cube, in Issy-le-Moulineaux. There's going to be an overload of personal exposure before I make my grand departure.