A Parisian Story

I sort of promised you all stories from my escapades in Europe. And I just came across one of said escapades on Facebook, so I think I'll regale you with just one of the many adventures. (Speaking of Facebook...uh, the f*ck? What is the diff between live feed and news feed? Why is it repeating itself? Why is it suggesting people I "reconnect" with? Stop Facebook, stop.)

So this story is about The Swede. The Swede was a.......yes, Swedish bar back at this bar/slash/club we frequented called Cafe Oz. It was Australian and a lot of study abroad kids hung out there because they played western music (albeit outdated) sporadically. This particular night there was a rough one. On a Friday we started out at this bar across the street from Oz but decided to leave. I don't remember why. It was me and 2 other girls who's names both start with E, so we will refer to them as E1 and E2. Everyone with me?
The girls and I head into Oz and it is absolutely slammed packed, as it usually is Friday and Saturday nights. We get inside and bypass coat check. We weren't sure if we wanted to stay, so we went in to find some friends and a table before making the investment of coat check. This detail is important later. We find E1's boy toy J. J is like.....man about town, but he's American. I pretended to get along with him, but we really didn't get along....personality clash. He was actually really rude to me once, but apologized, so I tried to play nice. E1 was a good friend of mine, and I was being "supportive." Plus, he bought us all drinks. My approval can usually be bought with liquor. So J gets us a table, some pitchers of beer and cocktails, and we go to check out coats + bags. While we're pushing through the crowds, this French guy grabs my arm and says, "mademoiselle, tu est tres belle, parler avec moi," {miss, you're very pretty, come talk to me}. And I was like, "as if." I said "non, merci" and pulled my arm away. But he kept on being really agressive and touching me, and I firmly said, "ARRETE" {stop!}. I jerked my arm away and finally got away from him. French guys in clubs are usually very aggressive, this wasn't out of the ordinary. Usually if you're firm and say stop, they will. So I thought I was in the clear. We checked our things and were walking back through the crowd to our table. Well this guy starts harassing me again! Touching me, and grabbing my arm and asking me to dance with him. It finally irritates me so much that I turn around and just give him the finger. Universal in almost any language. Welllllllll that was not the smartest decision, because he counters back with "Salope!" {slut!} and proceeds to pour his full pint of beer down my neck. Oh yes he did. I whipped around with the fury of a ruined hairdo and pushed him and said straight in his face in English, "I know you understand this: FUCK YOU." He got thrown out.
But the back of my hair and dress were still soaked in beer. The bartenders got me a few rags and the E's asked if I wanted to leave and I was like "hell no, I'm going to have a good time. Plus there's a hot bar back to run my game on." Nooooow the story really starts....
We're drinking at our table, dancing every few songs, and I told J that I thought the Swedish bar back was really hot. And he was. As tall as I am, built, blond hair buzzed really close and blue eyes. Normally not my type, but sometimes you can't deny-- attractive is attractive. And "when in Paris....."
So J obliges me. He felt that hooking me up with the Swede would win him points in my book so I would feel okay about him being with E1. He was right. He spat some game at the Swede for me, and told me that the Swede thought I was attractive as well. SCHWING!
Oz closed at 4am. The Metro didn't open again until roughly 6am. This left 2 hours to kill for those who didn't want to pay for a taxi. Or who wanted to wait for a hot bar back to get off work. So the "routine" for people who work at Oz is to clean up, then go to this wine bar across the street that is open super late (or early depending on how you look at it). Me, the E's, J and his friends went to the wine bar to drink wine, shoot the shit, and wait for the Oz kids to come join us. They eventually did, and the Swede came and sat right next to me. Obviously. Then we moved inside per the owners' instructions. We were being too loud for the neighbors. I was a few glasses of wine deep, and it definitely became the "E Story Hour." I was telling jokes and stories left and right, just basking in the attention of the table. I'm usually not an attention whore, but if the shoes fits.... Over the course of about an hour, the Swede went from sitting next to me, to having his hand on my leg. Then we kissed. Then everyone decided to go get coffee at a cafe, then call it a morning (it was about 9am at this point). We all go to the cafe, have our coffee, and walk to the metro together. I left the metro about 2 hours later. The Swede asked me to come back to his apartment with him, but I simply could not! I was not that kind of girl! He was a foreigner and I was in a foreign city! But yes, I would makeout with him in the Châtelet metro stop, in public, for roughly two hours. He was that good of a kisser, you guys.

...And we'll save the rest for another installment of shenanigans. We didn't DO IT, so don't get your hopes up or anything, you dirty birds.

But I saw his picture pop up on Facebook, and I was reminded of the story. We didn't have a long affair... He was kind of a man whore. But I can't blame him, really. When I seriously thought about it, I would be exactly the same way. He's hot, works at a bar, and has a new flock of girls coming in every 6 months from America, then leaving again. If I was a 21 year old boy, I would do the same thing. Can you even blame him? Play on!

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