Stalk like an Egyptian

That is the chicken I made for my birthday party, plus other things here.

So wandering around Paris again was pretty cool. Not wanting to shell out much cash, I hit up a few galleries/festivals. I saw a super cool installation at the Pantheon. I ate dinner twice with Michele, my former Parisian host mother, and I saw her grandson, Kylian. Le French Pentouse rocked out on All Hollow's Eve and paid homage to all our saints the next day at Pere Lachaise cemetary.

Incidentally, I picked up a Cairo admirer/stalker. My cool colloc (roommate) from Avignon, Marine, was coming up to Paris Thursday, and I was leaving Friday morning. We arranged to meet up that night at this bar with a clear view of the Eiffel Tower. I was en route when Marine called to say she would be late, so when I got to the bar I just went in to wait and get a drink. I jammed myself into a corner of the room, because it was so crowded, and attempted to get the barman’s attention. Being 5’3”, and three deep from the bar, the server didn’t even know I was there. This tall guy next to me was like, oh, I’ll get his attention for you. I shouted an order for a blond beer, and in return, the barman charged me ten euros for a gigantic triple sex on the beach, but whatevs. Most expensive and fruity beer I’ve ever had. The guy started talking to me, and he was pretty friendly and nice enough. His name was Hazim, he had moved to Paris from Egypt 4 years ago, worked in interior decorating and rolled his R’s and mushed his P’s like an Argentine. You know when you just shoot the shit with random strangers, and it’s cool because everyone is being friendly, even though you’ll never see them again? I thought this was one of those conversations. But it wasn’t.

I was halfway through my “beer,” when my roommate and her friends arrived, the knocked on the window for me to come outside, presumably to go to a different bar. The guy I was talking to was like, oh wow, I know her, she’s my friend! I thought he meant my roommate, and I was like, crazy! that's my roommate! He was like, yeah, I know her! What’s your number! I was like, well, I live in Avignon, I don’t live here in Paris. He was like, oh no worries, I’ll call you, and we can hang out when you come to Paris. Being that he seemed like a really normal and nice enough guy, I was like, sure, thinking that a friend of Marine’s is a friend of mine.

Hanging out with Marine’s friends that night was nuts. They were all really fun, a mix of Parisian friends of one of Marine’s friends, and a assorted Europeans from when Marine did her study abroad last year in Denmark. After my sex-beachy “beer,” and two real beers and then finding our selves passing around bottles of wine (we don’t need no stinking glasses) at somebody’s out-of-town-parents’ apartment, I asked Marine, so how do you know Hazim. She was like who? I was like the Egyptian that was talking to me at the bar. I thought maybe Hazim had mean Emanuelle, Marine’s friend, but Manu said, Shit, I don’t know that Moroccan. Egyptian, Marine corrected her. Bœuf (whatevs), North African, slurred Manu.

So, basically I got played like a little girl’s tea party. Which would be fine, if Hazim hadn’t ACTUALLY called me the next day, and then SENT me a misspelled loverboy/stalker texto when I was too tired to pick up. He signed it, your guardian angel. Ok, but sorry, last time I checked, getting the barman’s attention and NOT paying for my drink did not make you the Henry Travers to my Jimmy Stewart.

What type of things does an obsessed Egyptian text you with? You’ll have to check my auxilary blog later, but let’s just say it involves anxiety-inducing use of CAPITAL LETTERS and misspellings of the French words for “princess,” “beauty,” and incorrect use of the subjunctive.

Also, it has come to my attention that certain among you would like me to integrate my various blogs. Screw you, I like it this way. Also, you'll have to take up Jessica's dearth of posting with her.