How Not to Dance in Aix
Last night, there was another cocktail party for Students in Aix. I wasn't all that excited because we had just had one Tuesday night. Not to mention, the drinks were warm, cocktails usually are a little more complex and tasty than Malibu and orange juice, and everyone else was much more drunk than me. However, I must say that after these cocktail parties, we go out dancing, which, if you like to dance like me, usually perks the night up a bit. So, I got down. I boogied. It was coo. I even tried to lure a cute Frenchman into my lovin' arms on the dance flo, but he insisted that he could not dance and smoke at the same time...
I had a good time at the bar, but there were tons of friggin' Americans. Now, I don't have a problem with Americans, but who comes to the south of France to converse with your basic, run-of-the-mill, American jackass? Certainement, pas moi! But I digress, many of the Americans were much more willing to get down than the locals were. For example, two lovely little girls thought it would be fun to dance on the bar, and freak each other. That's usually ok back in the States, in fact, it's most welcome, but here... it's just wierd. The guys liked it all right, it's just unfortunate that that is the representation of American girls in Europe.
Anyway, interesting thing about club music: the most popular music is friggin' techno... or, get this: American oldies... They play house music for the majority of the night. Then a big group of Americans come in, and they start playing a lot of stuff that is popular back in the States, you know, to make us happy. Then, for the finale? A techno remix medley of Elvis, Dion and the Belmonts, and like, friggin Elton John. Now, as much as I love our wonderful American classics... in a bar, where people are drinkin' and freakin'? No, ca ne marche pas, mes amis, ca ne marche pas. (For those of you who don't speak French: it doesn't work, my friends, it doesn't work.)
So, last night was a culmination of warm screwdrivers and Heinekens, some dancing, and some conversing with the locals. I met a bouncer at one of the bars here, and he's a pretty funny guy. He speaks, like, five languages. I thought he was kind of a player, but I may be wrong about that. After I said good night to him, April and I walked back to our new little apartment together with are arms linked and huddled together because we were chilly. This is aparently quite the attention grabber for Frenchmen. So, we were harassed a little, but I was happy because I sucessfully told one of the dudes to shut up in French slang. I felt bitchin'.
I should tell you all briefly about our apartment. April and I found it Thursday afternoon and moved in Thursday night. We were so tired of the whole exhausting apartment search that when we saw how cute this one was, we just took it. The landlord is this really nice, motherly type lady with one of the most annoying voices in the world, but I like her a lot. She gave us practically everything, and fixed the place up really nice for us, right before we moved in. The place is small, but it's in a great neighborhood. It's safe, and nearby school and the open-air market. The view is wonderful, it's seriously like a postcard you might find here in one of the tourist shops. Madame Silvy, the landlord, lets us use the washer she has in the apartment above ours, and in there, she does her sewing and her brother does his painting. Um, hello! Free artist studio!! Anyway, the place is great, and I'm happy to be out of those horrid dorms.
I had a good time at the bar, but there were tons of friggin' Americans. Now, I don't have a problem with Americans, but who comes to the south of France to converse with your basic, run-of-the-mill, American jackass? Certainement, pas moi! But I digress, many of the Americans were much more willing to get down than the locals were. For example, two lovely little girls thought it would be fun to dance on the bar, and freak each other. That's usually ok back in the States, in fact, it's most welcome, but here... it's just wierd. The guys liked it all right, it's just unfortunate that that is the representation of American girls in Europe.
Anyway, interesting thing about club music: the most popular music is friggin' techno... or, get this: American oldies... They play house music for the majority of the night. Then a big group of Americans come in, and they start playing a lot of stuff that is popular back in the States, you know, to make us happy. Then, for the finale? A techno remix medley of Elvis, Dion and the Belmonts, and like, friggin Elton John. Now, as much as I love our wonderful American classics... in a bar, where people are drinkin' and freakin'? No, ca ne marche pas, mes amis, ca ne marche pas. (For those of you who don't speak French: it doesn't work, my friends, it doesn't work.)
So, last night was a culmination of warm screwdrivers and Heinekens, some dancing, and some conversing with the locals. I met a bouncer at one of the bars here, and he's a pretty funny guy. He speaks, like, five languages. I thought he was kind of a player, but I may be wrong about that. After I said good night to him, April and I walked back to our new little apartment together with are arms linked and huddled together because we were chilly. This is aparently quite the attention grabber for Frenchmen. So, we were harassed a little, but I was happy because I sucessfully told one of the dudes to shut up in French slang. I felt bitchin'.
I should tell you all briefly about our apartment. April and I found it Thursday afternoon and moved in Thursday night. We were so tired of the whole exhausting apartment search that when we saw how cute this one was, we just took it. The landlord is this really nice, motherly type lady with one of the most annoying voices in the world, but I like her a lot. She gave us practically everything, and fixed the place up really nice for us, right before we moved in. The place is small, but it's in a great neighborhood. It's safe, and nearby school and the open-air market. The view is wonderful, it's seriously like a postcard you might find here in one of the tourist shops. Madame Silvy, the landlord, lets us use the washer she has in the apartment above ours, and in there, she does her sewing and her brother does his painting. Um, hello! Free artist studio!! Anyway, the place is great, and I'm happy to be out of those horrid dorms.
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