Fever, fever, fever

It's a day from being exactly a month from the last time I posted and so much as happened.  Lately I've been asked why exactly it is that I've never gone out with anyone in the US, never kissed anyone.. nothing.  My response always starts off with "well, it's not that I haven't been asked out, I just wasn't interested enough." I'm picky, it's true; I admit it. So what, right? 

So when the silly business with the French guy from the club occurred my senses were flabbergasted -- completely annihilated by the opening of this new, bizarre chapter in my life, as well as the alcohol that interrupted my rationality.  (Un)Fortunately whatever part of me that says "no" to everyone gave me that uneasy feeling that it wouldn't work out, so I ignored him until he moved on.  I say "whatever" part of me because, quite frankly, I have no idea what it is that makes me instantly recoil from people, feel uncomfortable even though I might perhaps be interested.  The only conclusion I can come to is from Vicky Cristina Barcelona, "I know what I don't want but I have no idea what I do want." 

Well, I've just gotten an amazing taste of it, and all the waiting and confusion and loneliness I've experienced where I've needed and longed for someone to talk to makes sense and was well worth it, well worth him.  How it is funny though that he is not what I superficially and subconsciously came here looking for: not French, doesn't speak French, nothing at all about him is French.  By contrast, everything about him is what I want, like, think about, dream about, imagined in my head but concluded wasn't likely.  None of the micky mouse bullshit I'm so use to dealing with: "Does he like me? Should I call him? How should I act?" -- none.  This is the most instantly satisfying relationship I've ever had with anyone that lacks the "it's too good to be true" aspect because there are already obvious parts of this that make it dreadful and sad that will come later and very soon, but still worth it. 

So, instead of a Frenchie who I have to struggle to understand and talk to, I have my super sweet, sexy, funny, Irish writer who I still have to struggle to understand, but who seems to have been ripped from any fantasy I've ever had of what I want in someone, although they've been so vague and uncertain. 

So I can officially say I've found "love" in Paris, although I wouldn't use that word quite yet, you get the idea. 

(EN post) Too easy...

What a world wind of last week of break, honestly! 

Thursday night I finally hung out with the people in my foyer, who are mostly really cool cats.  It was nice because I met a lot of interesting people from all over (especially Germany).  That same night I had two guys tell me on two separate occasions that I look like Lauryn Hill ("mais plus jolie" LOL). I think she is gorgeous but I really don't see any resemblance, at all.  It's really weird, but nice too. I think the first time anyone told me that was in high school-- so it dates before my hair was natural... now I guess when I rock my fro' it's worse. haha

At the pub I met a really nice, intelligent guy who (of course) spoke English pretty well. He was really cool, so when he asked me for my number I obliged him although I knew instantly I wasn't that interested in him. I guess I'm trying to listen to the "date, go out, meet people" advise people spew whenever I mention kind of wanting a boyfriend. So, I figured I'd give him and shot and go with the flow. 

Saturday me and the girls did some drinking before heading out for a late night out (caught the last RER out and took the first one back).  The first club we went to didn't work out at all (extremely selective and a lot of the girls were underdressed) anyway.  So we went across the street (mind you, this is RIGHT next to the Louvre... so funny there are at least two clubs next to that museum), and went in.  It was super fun and I drank more than I should have (but not so much that I can't remember the embarrassing crap I did!).  Long story short I met a guy and we exchanged numbers and emails and I'm sure in our drunken stupor we would have exchanged other forms of communication if it were at all possible. We were so drunk we spent 5 minutes playing Texas Hold 'em on his fucking phone!  

Generally speaking, when you meet someone at a club you don't expect it to be substantial right? Or you expect to wake up later and feel like a complete idiot for making out with a not-so-attractive-guy-who's-unsavory-nature-was-concealed-by-flashing-strobe-lights-and-damn-good-cosmos (this is a real question because this is the first time I've ever done it-- feel free to answer)? I guess I might have gotten extremely lucky, as between the moments of drunken stupidity we actually had a decent conversation... with my horrible, horrible, drunken, "quoi" and "blah, blah eueee"-filled French and my forward/random questions, we actually manage to have a real conversation.  That and apparently I had five minutes of "manly" clarity that went along the lines of "how will I make sure he's not busted? EUREKA! Outside for a smoke in the bright ass lights will do it!" Mind you, I don't smoke... but it worked, at least I knew he was cute. 

So, when me and the girls returned home and after I slept half the day away, I did not expect him to call. Or to ask to see me. Or to have already added me on msn. Or to find out how freakishly similar we are.  I think the icing on the cake is that seeing him again, although awkward for my own embarrassment and the combination of our shyness, was really nice.  I spent the whole time being suspicious, constantly thinking that there's got to be something wrong wrong wrong with this (and effectively saying how out of character I was Saturday, in as many different ways as possible).  I'm always super suspicious of people who are interested in me, but for some reason I kind of believe him when he says he's normally quite shy but he likes me a lot blah blah mushy gooey mush.  How is it possible that we're both quasi-nerds, like the same movies, like the same music, literature, and poetry (to the point where he randomly recites a poem --not very well known I think-- that I fell in love with last year, I actually had it on the wall of my dorm room!)? Or have the same goofy sense of humor? I'm a little flabbergasted, confused, befuddled as to how this happened all of a sudden... and if it isn't too easy to be true. I mean, I've always thought that finding someone you like and who likes you too was a some kind of bionic leap of fate that only happens to "normal" or "lucky" people. 

I guess I'll find out soon enough, won't I? Until then I will wait in suspicion and awe, while continuing to ignore this other guy's calls (I kind of feel bad... )