Lindsey's First Friday Night Out

I found this website called meet-up.com which encourages large group gatherings of like-minded individuals. Or something like that. As much as I hate cheesy forced shit, I knew the standards had to go. I found one for ex-pats, and they just happened to be having a get-together that night AND it was on my metro line. Okay, no reason for Lazy Lindsey not to drag herself out on a Friday night. Plus, I can’t have the parents thinking I have no life and want to take care of their children 24/7. I headed out around 9pm, and it took me about twenty minutes to get to the Bonne Nouvelle stop on Line 8. But then…I couldn’t find the damn bar. It was called Pranzo. I must have walked twenty minutes up and down the streets and side streets. I almost gave up and went to a McDonald’s to have an espresso and go home.
After having an iPhone with GPS for a year…not being able to instantly access information about where I am and where to go…it was such a slap in the face. I will never, EVER take Wi-Fi or a cell phone for granted again. I SWEAR, INTERNET GODS! Luckily, my instinct finally kicked in when I heard two girls speaking English. I followed them. And…they led me to the place. Which was probably two feet from my Metro stop. Typical me.

Went in, ordered a 1664 (6.50 E, Jesus! Can’t afford to drink here) and went upstairs. Oh, did I forget to mention it was stand-up comedy in English night? Sounds awful, right? But actually…it wasn’t bad. The French comedians were actually funnier than the Americans. They just complained about their girlfriends and made sex jokes in broken English.

Some guy kept making eyes at me during the show and sure enough, he approached me afterwards. Asked if I was with the “meet-up.” We talked for awhile and he asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Uh, no. I suggested we go downstairs and join the group. Even though he is French and has lived all over, he apparently likes going to these ex-pat meetups. Just what Ted Bundy would say, right?! He introduced me to the organizer, Raj, a guy from Atlanta, and a typical overachiever Indian Engineer mover and shaker.

I was hoping to talk to these two girls (one of whom I overheard was from Houston) but never got a chance. As the metro closed at 12:30am, I wasn’t going to hang around too long. The French guy (I forgot his name) walked me to my stop and I gave him my email, as he offered to show me around Paris. Is that a line? Probably. Am I desperate? You betcha. He was pretty generic French-looking, but taller than you would expect. I’ll probably have to tell him pretty soon I’m “currently in my bisexual phase and only interested in ladies but we can still be friends okay?!”
Think that’ll work?

So, after telling me they NEVER go out and I would pretty much always have weekends free…the parents announced they were going out tonight! And I could watch the kids! On Saturday night! Lucky me! Sadly, I don’t really care that much because any chance to get on Wi-Fi and talk to Colin/Andrea/my mom sounds better than going out at night. So I’ll be heading over there around 7. Maybe the kids can watch a movie without killing each other and I can make a phone call. Yes, I can call the US for free on their landline. Pretty nice.

Oh, but I’m forgetting the cherry on top of my sundae night! I was walking home around 12:30am, so happy with myself for going out, talking to people, maybe making friends, and as I rounded the corner…I see a guy in my courtyard. Two feet from the front door. Facing out to the street, pants down around his ankles…and masturbating. MASTURBATING TWO FEET FROM MY FRONT DOOR.

Keep in mind it’s dark, I’m the only person on the street, and what the fuck is happening. Luckily, I kept my cool, didn’t scream (because don’t they get off on that?) and just kept walking. I walked a block and stopped. What to do? Come back in five minutes? An hour? It was late, I was tired, and I just wanted to get in my bed. What are the odds a guy would be masturbating outside my front door? I know it’s Paris, but c’mon! I decided to take my high-heeled boots off, as they made too much noise. Maybe the clickety-clack turned him on even more. I started slowly walking back. I held my boots in my hand, as I planned to hit him in the face if need be. As I crossed my street, I’m pretty sure he walked past me. However, I didn’t quite get a good look at his face the first time, as he was MASTURBATING.

I ran to my front door, hurriedly pushed in the code, and slammed the door behind me. It wasn’t until I started up the stairs that I started shaking and crying. What a horrible way to end an okay night. And my first night out in Paris, no less. All I wanted to do was call Colin and I couldn’t. It sucked. But at least I was home safe.
So now I have to wonder…is this a nightly tradition for him? Or just Fridays, when he knows people are out late? Will it always be my courtyard, or does he like to mix it up?

I’m probably going to tell my French family, not like they can do anything about it, but they might as well know some dude is whacking it off outside their living room window. And, if I see him again, I’m going home. Take that, Paris! I don’t need your public penis wanking.

Okay, now I have to force myself to get dressed, go buy a day planner, and walk by the lake. I wish I could pay someone to be my friend right now.