So I am sure there has not been any realization that the posts are way out of order and incredibly delayed. So I move forward by going back.
A couple nights ago, a group of us decided to go out. For me it was to celebrate getting into the music school, with only a 24 hour notice that I would have even have an audition, as well as, making it through a brain melting two weeks of orientation. (Spelman isn't the only one...) So we dressed up and went out for a night on the town. The street off of Saint Michel is a very lively, narrow and swarming with French and American men and women whooting, talking, and dancing .
My night began normal enough, we attempted to dance salsa, which, is something I can't believe I have not tried to do before because I absolutely love it. The men, were nice, eager to dance and eager to teach us the steps. The music was fun. I was shaking and moving... I felt like I had a butt...almost anyways. Though it wasn't long before my group wished to look elsewhere for fun and excitement.
Things always tend to get a bit ridiculous just after meeting some new men. These two were from Harvard, coasting around the country for some fun before they were forced to get a job. They were both nice and sweet and soon became a part of our little entourage. Not wanting to return to far from where we had already been, we settled for a lounge that used one word we knew: sexy. Bras were laced all through the lights and dangling from the ceiling. No sooner had we sat down then did a glass break at the bar and millions of tiny plastics swords (you know the one that they put fruits on for drinks) flew down the back of my shirt and all over the floor. Then some "helpful hands" came to the rescue to help remove some of the plastic swords.
I am not even going to try to explain what happen next. How my bra was somehow, unhooked, pulled off of me, and held over my head for the whole club to see, before being placed on one of the near naked, most assumedly gay, non-deodorant wearing, sweaty, french, bartenders. There is no way to even explain my look of astonishment when my only black bra, two sizes to small was hoisted in the air, and my new harvard acquaintes laughed, pointed, and said
" Isn't that your bra...."
Don't worry though my consulation prize was my jus de pomme (apple juice) with a sparkler, that I thought was going to catch my hair on fire. Total cost 8 E (12 dollars). My bra being sported by a man strictly in underwear and given back to me in his teeth. priceless.
With all the excitement that we could possibly take we said our goodbyes and left.
Now, no trip out in a new place can be complete without the adventures "How do we get back?"
The metro had stop running. Paris has a night train, though right now the name escapes me. Anyways, they are buses that pick up the late-nighters, and drive all over the city so that people aren't stranded. You just have to find the right stop...and not attract people that are right out of the movie Taken, who only speak to you in english, and try to ride home with you to see,"where you sleep"....
We left at 1:30 am, I stumbled into my room at 4 something in the morning. Which will now explain why in the previous blog, I am just a bit late for my cooking lunch.
Just in case anyone was wondering, my bra was not harmed in this incident and I am proudly wearing it as I write... after it had a trip through the washer machine.