It was 6:00 am, and we were on our way home. I could feel my muscles going lax in rebellion, and my contacts were jumping out of my dry eye sockets. And I was so happy.
The evening started when Sarah and I rang the wrong doorbell. Inside the wrong apartment in the wrong building, two quite handsome young gentlemen helped us find the party we were looking for. Did I mention it was a costume party?
It was. To get into the party later that night, you had to be wearing an American stereotype! So, at Mary-Lou's birthday and pre-dance party, I made the acquaintance of many thugs, cheerleaders, american flags, a pregnant teen, and some people even wore a painted box-- a locker. There were delicious, savory tartes, some Brittany Spears booty-shakin', and a little boozin'.
We ate, drank, made merry, sang happy birthday and filed out to the metro on our way to the party. We were the obnoxious bunch of ass holes talking loudly and, hopefully, spreading some joy. Right. Oh well, when you're an ass on the metro, you'll probably neeeever see those people again. They're probably pretty glad for it.
Take a good hard look. The party was on a boat, mother****er.
There it was, a boat on the Seine, ready to party.
It was your average dance party with a little less self-conscious dancing than you'd see at American parties. They were there to have a good time with friends, not just impress everyone there.
Another difference caught my attention. At home, college students want to drink hard, fast, get drunk and go sleep it off. They can't do that here. If a party starts at midnight and the last metro leaves at 1:00 am, then of course you simply wait for the first metro to arrive at 5:00 am. Duh. Can anyone drink that hard until 5 am? Not without throwing up on the boat. So, here they like to pace it out. It was a refreshing take on partying, more fun in mah humble opinion.
So, at 5:00 am, the DJs turned on more low lights, played some Justice, and ushered us out into the freezing night air. There was only one drunk girl throwing up on the stairs, one broken shoe, and lots of sore bodies happily stumbling toward the closest metro.
