Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.



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Thursday, November 02, 2006  
The Parisian Chronicles: Part VIII - Birthday Bloish
I think I speak for everyone, and by everyone I mean my 3 readers, that these chronicles are getting ridiculously drawn out and have to be wrapped up soon. I mean it's been over 3 months already. Get with the program, me. So I'm going to attempt to wrap this tome of chronicles by Part X in due time.

When I found out I would be going to the quite towns of Blois and Chambord for my 21st birthday weekend, I was thrilled, as anyone in their right minds would be. The only problem was I didn't know what the hell Blois and Chambord were. It basically entailed what a lot of the organized field trips in the program were: long bus rides followed by forced education, mindless wandering and another long bus ride back. We always made it more interesting than it was originally intended. Since soccer fever had hit everywhere in the world except the U.S., it was decided that there would be a soccer match of the language program vs. the global studies program (pansies) near the end of our program. And our first practice would be at picturesque Blois.

I don't know if it was because I was ethnic looking or because I was talking about how awesome the World Cup was but one of the TAs thought I was a soccer star of some sort and made me a team captain. A somewhat foolish choice on his part since I had never actually played soccer in my entire life, unless you count kicking rocks on the sidewalk. No matter, I would pick my team and we would...practice....in a field....in the middle of nowhere....in Blois, France.





















It was a motivator for me, however, that one of our professors was playing on the other team in practice and since she had decided to give us a French-load of homework that weekend, I thought maybe a few accidental shin kicks were in order.

















My thirst for vengeance was short-lived since I somehow ended up pretty far away from the ball. And when I did get any sort of action in the game, I was fouling someone...





















....CAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL! In any case, after the wildly successful practice, since I was so embarassingly out of shape, I needed a nap. And I would have to rest up because that night, there would be much excitement to be had...at the light & sound spectacular at Blois Castle. Hang onto your knickers, ladies, cause it can get pretty rowdy at the light & sound spectacle. No flash photography, no talking, no drinking, no eating, no breathing, no sensing, no perceiving, no existing. Wild, raunchy stuff. I won't post pictures of the spectacle so as to not overexcite my audience who may or may not suffer from respiratory or cardiovascular conditions, but trust me, it's highly recommended.

That night, on the eve of my 21st, it was apparently in order that I become unbelievably drunk. Since the bible declares, "Thou shalt not acquire Cirrhosis of the Liver for risk of Jesus throwing a hissy fit," and since I'm a devout Chr-athol-rotestan-ethodis-ologist, I must abide. So when a compadre of mine wanted to "chug beers" with me, I would take a healthy sip then take a break, she would yell at me for stopping, then start talking to someone else, I would switch the cans (hers being nearly empty since she was apparently so well-read in chugging) and we would continue. Wash, rinse and repeat... I hope she's not reading this. I'm pretty sure she's still hungover anyway. Yeah, I'm a pussy. So's yo momma. What I could not avoid was a shot straight from the devil himself. I'll give you a hint, it rhymes with shmequila. Not recommended to anyone who wants to experience sensations ever again. As a result, the next morning I woke up with a smiling headache to greet me.

Lucky for me, I would not be taking part in the bike ride to Chambord since I hadn't ridden a bicycle ever without either falling or dying. So I took the bus, like any self-respecting wimp would. We did stop to see the sunflowers though.





















For my birthday in Chambord, we would decide to celebrate more of my inadequacies (if you're keeping track that's three so far: soccer, drinking and bike riding) with the addition of rowing to the list. How charming it would be to take a rowboat around the castle in Chambord. How picturesque. How romantic....





















....how embarrassing. Who knew it was so hard to move two paddles simulataneously at an even pace. It took me at least 45 minutes to get out of the damn dock thing they had there. And then there was the wall I kind of crashed into....






















...and the shrubbery...





















...and the pirate ship....






















...but no matter. Like much of the trip, it was a learning experience. My seat actually could be used as a flotation device.

Suffice it to say, I could never have predicted how my birthday weekend would come to pass, but a weekend in the countryside of France wasn't half bad. Humiliation builds character, after all. Tequila, on the other hand, does not.


Coming up in Part IX: Mishaps in Monet's Garden
1:04 AM
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