Sri Lankans, cocaine, and the party that never existed.

I had to get up early on Saturday. Really ass-crack of dawn early. Like 5:30am. It involved walking a mile to the metro in the dark, ride it all the way to Champs-Elysees, and wait in line for FOUR HOURS to see the Palais de l'Élysée, the Presidential Palace of France. It's open one day a year to the public for French Heritage Weekend. Fine, I can force myself to do this. It's the "White House" of Paris, right? Maybe Carla Bruni will be serving coffee.

So I know I shouldn't go out Friday night. I don't even want to. I look gross, I'm wearing a baggy sweater and my requisite black leggings and glasses. But another au pair I hadn't yet met in real life invited me to meet up for a drink with her German couchsurfers and French boyfriend. Fine. I'll drag myself out, have one glass of wine, and head home, feeling sufficiently exhausted. I invite Kacy as well. But as I'm on my way to the place, the girl texts me saying they've moved on. I am immediately annoyed. This isn't America, where I can turn my car around, plug a new address in my GPS, and carry on. I was already at the correct metro, and I'm still new enough that I can't just go somewhere else without special, OCD instructions. Especially at night.

Once I meet Kacy we say "fuck it" and head to Oberkampf, hearing it's a good area for nightlife. Perhaps it is, but as we walked around, we didn't see much. Then again, most people don't party until after midnight and it was....10pm. I'm a grandma! We are about to give up but stop in at some brasserie for a cheap cafe. (Yes, it's all I can afford.) We are about to leave when a Sri Lankan comes up and tells me I look like Lily Allen. Okay, great. He offers to buy us a drink. Mmmm, not sure. Then he casually works in that he is a DJ heading to a private party. Would we like to join? Here is where my bad judgment comes in. I admit, I hate going out. But once I'm out and about and it's late and I'm there...I'm game for anything. I'd rather go out and have a shitty time and have a funny story later than nothing at all. So we agree.

We have a couple glasses of wine at the bar and talk to his weird, small friends. Then we head to Grands Boulevards metro stop. When we get out, it's hopping. But...(as we all knew was coming) we don't head for the party first. Oh no, we must first make a "stop" at a "friend's house." This involves stealthily creeping into a semi-decent apartment, but my instinct is already saying...bad idea. Bad. You should probably run home now. We walk into a shitty apartment full of creepy Sri Lankans giving us the evil eye. They then proceed to snort a lot of coke. We are offered some, but politely decline. I'm feeling weird and say, "Okay, let's go to that party now!!!"

So the guy walks out with us, but then says..."Let's stop at this pub to meet some other friends." It's a crowded Irish pub with a long line and more like a shitty bar on Sixth Street than anything else. We cut in line and go into a dance floor filled with sweaty study-abroad kids and a stereo blasting Top 40 hits from 2003. Oh, god. My worst nightmare. I sip at the glass of wine the guy bought me and think, game over. I find the restroom in the basement, take care of business, and then begin trying to convince Kacy to leave. That's one annoying thing about going out with someone. You can't just LEAVE when you want to. You have to beg, cajole, and demand to leave. She is having drinks bought for her (albeit by a creepy guy) so I have to physically pull her. No goodbyes, let's just walk quickly to the metro. I'm over it. I was over it an hour ago.

The guy follows us, but I ignore his pleas to stay. Once we get to the metro Kacy has no idea how to get home and calls her French boyfriend Michael for directions. His English is very poor so this doesn't work so well, especially in a crowded station, especially as she is a bit intoxicated. I'm a terrible friend, as I know exactly how to get home, and I just want to go. NOW. Once she seems to comprehend what's happening, I run all the way to my train.

I get home around 2:30 and wake up three hours later feeling, no surprise, like shit. BUT I'm proud of myself for getting up and actually going. It was a five hour trek in all, but I met some nice older ladies and we ended up going out for lunch afterward. I joked that only older women would get up this early on a Saturday just to view a fancy house. I love old lady friends! I need more--preferably a group of Jewish women from Brooklyn that like to tour museums and then sit around and complain about Paris. That would be my ideal.