So Courtney and I meet to get a drink--where we're meeting is still TBD. Nobody else wants to meet, so it's just us, and nothing--NOTHING--is going on at the Wohoo, so we decide to walk around to find a bar with something going on. Sextius is absolutely packed, so we walk around to the Cours Mirabeau and pass this cafe that we normally pass during the day; low key, never anything going on, too expensive for our college budgets to ever try. WELL, tonight?? Said expensive cafe is HOPPIN.
There is a decorated little fence gate out in front of it to keep people from just walzting up to the outside seating, with fern trees or something interspersed between the tables, and around the windows/openings to the indoor part of the restaurant. And tonight? There is a red-roped entrance with a big bouncer in some type of Italian suit (I may be in France but my knowledge on fashion is going nowhere) watching the line. Some guy, with a thick french accent, is yelling into the screaming crowd (of mostly or all shrill female trills of excitement), "Are there any ladies in the house tonight?!" ....Me and Courtney bust out laughing. Umm, excuse me sir, nobody your age should be saying that, let alone anyone any age. Awesome.
We looked at a sign/poster by the bouncer and apparently this guy is some semi-famous French singer. Well, semi-famous French singer guy gets some girls on the stage, clad in not-so-classy pink boas, and, after asking how the "ladies" are doing a few more times, proceeds to sing the most awkward broadway version of "New York, New York" I have, I am quite confident in saying, ever heard--however, that also means it was also the most comical.
(Pink boas, semi-choreographed moves, and alcohol always make for a good night--obviously)
But what was even BETTER (believe it or not it gets better than a frenchman yelling about ladies in the house and breakin it down to New York, New York), were the over the hill's swaying back and forth, arms over each other's shoulders, somehow skillfully avoiding spilling their glasses of wine, and singing along via their thick accents--all at the same time. That only added to our hysterics--to be multiplied when they noticed us laughing and proceeded to mosey over to us, still singing, still arm in arm, still not spilling. We walked away--but I was faaaasteeerrr! One of them got Courtney by the hand and started twirling her around. Of course, me, being the superb friend that I am...pulled out my camera.
(That's right ladies and gentleman--he posed)
Then the second guy, after leaning away from the picture so that I could get Courtney and Recedinghairline (he's a superb friend as well), came towards me. Bearing in mind that we have just had our experiences with Marco, Benjy, and now Vincent--three guesses what I did? Pulled the hell away. Still laughing, yes, but he started introducing himself and his friend, where they were from--and where are you all from? Still laughing, "California." Your names? "....No." Still laughing, I snapped one more picture--which they BOTH LEANED IN FOR, said, "Facebook picture!" And then we walked away, cracking up with people watching us as we went. The night had gone from a fail, to freaking beautiful.
("Facebook picture!!!)
So we walk down to O'Shannon's to see what's going on down there. Well we aren't really a fan of O'Shannon's as of late, so we try a new bar. Don't remember the name of it, but it's indoors and looks like it has potential. First stop is the bathroom upstairs--always the first stop b/c you have to pay for public restrooms in Europe--where there were only boys in line...interesting. Courtney mentions this. We didn't really have to pee so we decide not to wait in line and go downstairs to the bar. I discreetly remark to Courtney that we have just entered a sausage fest. Pretty sure it's a gay bar. She doesn't really agree just yet...YET. We order drinks, take a seat, and by now--after having plenty of men pass us in fitted (more fitted than the usual European style) shirts and pants, nice shoes, and perfect hair, gently pressing a hand to one another's waist or arm, I look at Courtney. She looks at me. She says, "I think this is a gay bar." I say, "No shit."
So yes, we accidentally stumbled into a gay bar, with the DJ blasting "Time of Your Life" from Dirty Dancing--turning down the music here and there in the chorus to hear the crowd on the dancefloor shout the lyrics. DEAR LORD it was hilarious. It was an accident, but if you note the title of this entry, a "Happy Accident." Given experiences of late in bars, it was so nice to be able to sit at a table with our drinks, and just be, no being approached, no being eyed, yes being able to people watch, was soooo nice. It was like a breath of fresh air. A really really really funny breath of fresh air :) Happy accidents, man--a favorite past-time.
(Not a great picture, but the interior of the club; really cool layout and decor)
Okay, left to update: last weekend's adventures to Marseille and Cassis, maybe patronage weekend, and I really wanna talk about Gilad Shalit's video...go read about it on Haaretz.com if you haven't heard yet!
No comments:
Post a Comment