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

Saturday, February 12, 2011

An Uncensored Friday Night Abroad

I debated about whether I'd update about last night because I know a large volume of people read my blog. My philosophy with writing is to always be honest, even if it's offensive or mortifying or scary. So here it is: an uncensored Friday night abroad.

Amy, Liana, Leah, Nikki, and I commenced our night by pre-gaming at the house and eat cheese and bread. We have yet to figure out the good cheeses, and one of them smelled like a toilet seat. After swapping stories, we went out to a few bars.

I saw Berry at her boyfriend at James Joyce and said hello. We took tequila shots and someone spilled beer all over my jacket. We left without a buzz and ended up at the marché again. Amy and Nikki bought some tall, lethal can of beer (7% alcohol) and I drank some Amsterdam beer that was 8.4%.

We walked on Marchel Foch and the girls stopped for a smoke. My feet hurt and I wanted frîtes. By this time we were quite drunk, so we walked down Bressigny for food. An adorable French boy stopped up when he heard we spoke English. He asked if we were from the U.S. and if we knew Eva or something. We said no and asked who she was.

"Oh, she is very beautiful. She is from the States and I am looking for her." That was a little too cute.

We made it to McDoner and the MiddleEastern kebab man argued with me about my race.

"You are Indian girl."

"Non, je suis américaine!"

"No, I am sorry. You are poorly mistaken. But you are Mexican."

"Okay, okay, je suis italienne."

"Oh, okay."

You know, these conversations would be considered offensive in the U.S. Everyone here thinks I'm Hispanic. One Venezualan girl in class asked if I spoke Spanish. I said no because I'm American. She stared at me and said, "But you're brown."

Anyways, back to the story. While eating frîtes, I called my boyfriend. Of course he didn't pick up because he was working. But I thought he might be able to sneak off and talk to me. We left the restaurant and I had to walk the fifteen minutes home so I tried to find someone to call. I called my boyfriend two more times, but to no avail. I called Michelle. Nothing. I called Joy and she picked up and talked to me until I made it home.

At home I received a text from Michelle. She said she was in tears because she thought something was wrong. I told her I was fine and in bed. I left Dylan a voicemail (stupid) that could only have made him nervous. I said I had really needed him tonight and was sad he wasn't there.

I woke up several times in the night. Each time I fell asleep I was greeted with an incredibly bizarre dream. I had a nightmare and woke up at 5:45 AM. My boyfriend had texted me five times, asking if I was okay and if he could call me. That he was so sorry he couldn't pick up. He had taken extra tables tonight so he could pay for his trip to France. Of course I told him I was sorry for the stupid voicemail and that everything was okay.

I fell asleep and woke up at 9:40 AM and received another flood of texts from my boyfriend. He had been drinking and all of his messages said how much he loved me and how he couldn't stop talking about me, how beautiful he thinks I am, etc. They were incredibly sweet so I saved them. I felt jealous that I couldn't be there with him and started feeling homesick again. I tried calling. No answer.

I fell asleep again and woke up around 1 PM. Not too sure what I'm going to do with myself today but it should not involve beer and an international phone.

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