Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Excusez-moi, France. You want me to do WHAT?

Seriously? You want me to go out and party late into the wee hours of the morning for TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how old/lazy/boring I really am?

Clearly not. Or if you do have an idea, you simply don’t care. Which means you are a little bit evil. That's right, I said evil.

You take this thing called a National Holiday and you let it fall smack dab in the middle of the week. And you give me a day off from class because of it. And you plan accordingly by throwing all these fabulous parties at fire stations all over the city on the night before my day off, so I can be sure to enjoy them. This is all well and good, and I really appreciate your benevolence. Because these fire station parties, the Bals des Pompiers, as they are known, are just too much fun to be missed. I mean, where else in the world is there an annual tradition in which all the fire stations city-wide close off their surrounding streets, open their doors, and welcome with open arms anyone and everyone, of all ages, to join them for an all-night neighborhood dance party? With the firemen themselves working the bar?

So far, no problem France. We are on the same page, you and me.

But then you have to go and MESS IT ALL UP by throwing all these great Bals des Pompiers for a second night in a row. Why must you do this? Is one night not enough? Do you have any idea how much you are torturing me?

I did my duty last night. I was out all night at Fire Station 27 in Montmarte, drinking champagne and dancing to cheesy cover-band music 'til about 4am. I had a great time, ok? But clearly this isn't good enough for you, because if it were, these Bals wouldn't have to happen again tonight!

And to make matters worse, you now tell me that the most happening/hopping/awesome Fireman’s Ball of the entire city is going off tonight within about 8 minutes walking distance from my apartment, on Rue Sevigne in Le Marais. Hot-as-anything firemen. Serving me champagne. Cover bands. Gay boys. Straight boys. Beautiful people. And me, all I want to do is get into my pajamas (which technically would be really easy to do since I am still wearing them) and crawl into bed and stay there for the next 24 hours or so. But no. You have to tempt me out of my state of blissful laziness with hot firemen throwing block parties. France, you are a tease. An evil, torturous tease.

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