"When good Americans die, they go to Paris." - Oscar Wilde

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Breaking American Laws in France

It's 7 AM and my hands are sore from trying to open a Smirnoff Ice in the streets of France. I don't wanna talk about it. Okay, so maybe I do. Here's the story. We went out last night. Berry said the bars were less creepy earlier in the night, so we started walking around at 9 PM. But most of the bars looked empty.

We finally decided to go to an Irish Pub, James Joyce, where we heard they spoke English. It was packed, a good sign, so we went in and ordered a few drinks. Because of my high tolerance I ordered a margarita, which was basically just tequila poured into a martini glass. The other girls got some fruity concoction with marshmallows in it. I was feelin' a buzz when I left the bar but Amy still wanted alcohol so we stopped at a supermarket.

There, they sold wine in huge plastic bottles. Instead of trying this, I bought a Smirnoff Ice since we all decided we'd be French and drink in the streets. While Smirnoff is embarrassing, it's like liquid candy so I'd have no problem drinking it. Amy and Liana bought some beers and we left the store.

My Smirnoff bottle wouldn't twist-off and I soon realized I'd need a bottle opener. The girls wanted me to ask some random so open it for me, but I was too mortified about drinking Smirnoff Ice. We tried banging the bottle on a few window ledges and railings but to no avail. Finally, I found a condom dispenser and attempted to crack the bottle open against that. "You look like a fool," Liana said. At this point, I didn't care. I was disappointed so I shoved the bottle in my coat pocket. The rest of the way home it dangled and threatened to fall.

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