jeudi 14 juillet 2005

Like I need another excuse to drink.

One of the ubiquitous apartment buildings in Paris, perhaps, but this one was mine. That row of windows that has mock balconies, the leftmost window - that was my room. And a grand ol' time was had there- I'd have so many friends over that we wouldn't fit in the living room (which was actually smaller than my room), so more often than not, I'd just have people just sitting on the floor in my room when I made dinner, all of us tipsy and having a good time (with me frequently running to the teeny tiny kitchen that also housed our washer-cum-dryer and a fridge that was about the size of my printer for more salt to pour over the red wine spills that would inevitably happen).

Unfortunately, given that I was in Paris before digital cameras were really popular, all of my photos are print ones. Thusly, I only scanned a handful in, and the quality isn't so good. Besides, it's all pics of us doing lots of stupid things, like being stupid American tourists in the Louvre and posing like the statues, my friends trying to practice their mariachi skills so that they too could try to make money singing to people standing in lines (don't ask), and drinking a lot.

But no matter. You'll have better pictures someday! Given that I have more frequent flier miles than I know what to do with, I booked myself a flight - first class! - to Paris for my spring break. Yes, it's a long ways off, but hey, I really wanted those seats that recline all the way. That's right, who's going to get a good sleep this time 'round, hopefully without smelly obnoxious neighbours? The flight from LAX to Charles de Gaulle is a long one - what with the time changes and the layover, it ends up being over a full day of travelling - so if I'm going to make that flight, I'm going to do it properly.

(The last time I flew to Paris, we somehow got the (male) flight attendant to give us ONE of every little mini bottle of alcohol, accomplished thusly:
Me: Er, I don't know what I want to drink yet.
My roommate: Me neither.
Me: It's not possible to taste test everything, is it?
Flight attendant: I'll let you girls think about it a little.
Me, not about to let a truckful of alcohol get away from her: I guess I'll have an orange and Campari then.
[five minutes later]
Flight attendant: I need your barf bag.
Me: EW. WHO PUKED, AND IS IT NEAR ME? EW, and did s/he already go through her/his barf bag already? That is so gross.
[another couple of minutes later.]
Flight attendant, barf bag in hand and a wink: Here you go.
[And he handed us my barf bag back, full of mini alcohol bottles!]
And then he later smuggled us a bottle of champagne. It was good times on that plane, even though we were in steerage.)

All that in mini-commemoration of the fact that aujourd'hui, it is Bastille Day. Last year, I wrote a little historical bit about it, and I see no reason to copy it when I can just send you there.

(Funny tangent: if you stick most of my posts in Gender Genie, they all come out as being resolutely written by a female. However, you stick that Bastille Day one in, it says it was authored by a male.)

I'll have a glass (or bottle) of wine today (as what, opposed to any other day?) to celebrate my francophilia and a place that I just can't wait to get back to.