The Pains of Being Addicted to Human Contact

I have friends in Paris. I would like to think that I even have good friends whose relationships will last even when we have gone back to our respective areas of the world. Alas, I am still the girl I always was and cannot really stand being left alone for more than a few consecutive hours. At home I get around this by having a group of people that I am always around, being in the MUN office when they are busy, working and going to school. My life is very packed. Here, I have the school, but it is hard to motivated yourself to do anything when it doesn't count, but that is all. I have no MUN office and no job (except for babysitting and that contact doesn't count). I am trying very hard to learn how to be alone while here. I am trying to be able to enjoy the times of the day when there is no one around and I am forced to writing, reading or watching old West Wing episodes I have seen before. It is getting no easier than when I first arrived. I feel as though I am pestering my few friends and being way too clingy to my boyfriend, which is another problem all in itself. My prized self control goes out the window when there is no one around to make me remember the person that I am supposed to be. The funny thing is I am by no means neglected and for the most part I am more surrounded by people here than I am at home... Still, I feel like there is something about my situation being so temporary that forces me to always want to do something, to never just want that quiet day in. 

I hope that wasn't rambling, or overly personal. It's just that I am sitting alone right now. 

Hannah is the Queen of the Scene.

Here is a video from the Kitsune Maison show from late February. It is for all of those who ever doubted the awesomeness of my d.a.n.c.e.ing skills. For all of you blind people, I am the one in white with brown hair going crazy during We Have Band. 

Xavier de Rosnay: A Cock Tease

Continuing in the trend of describing wicked awesome shows that I have seen in Paris and could never see at home, I shall now pass on to the Thursday night I spent with the Justice’s better, hotter, more brilliant half- Xavier de Rosnay (sorry Gaspard, but we all know it is true).  My man played with Dj Pone of Birdy Nam Nam most of the night, with guest appearances by So-Me, Busy P and others who I don’t know well enough to comment on. Out of all the DJs I have seen here, from the big names like Feadz and Errol Alkan to the smaller ones whose names I don’t even know, Rosnay is far and away the best. He has the audience eating out of his hands the moment he puts on his gigantic headphones and places his fingers on the soundboard. No one is more of a master of the build up and breaks than Rosnay, he is, you see, a giant cock tease.  The perfect example of this would be the splicing in of “We Are Your Friends” with “D.A.N.C.E” I have attached below. 

Minutes before he plays the damn song, and believe me it feels like an eternity if you are on the floor, he spliced it in, getting the crowed all sorts of crazy. Then he brings the music down to a few pulsings, dropping the beat almost entirely—with a screaming audience begging for him to just give it up already, he just let’s us wait. If you are lucky enough to catch his face while all this is happening you will see him twisted with giddiness, eating up all the energy that he is creating. He builds and builds, giving us all time to get more excited, allowing the energy and pressure to build until we are almost going to explode, till we cannot handle it anymore, then, the music breaks and the crowd releases in an orgy of screaming and movement. I have a feeling that Xavier de Rosnay is very good in bed. 

The Thin LIne Between Flirting and Sexual Harassment: or French Men v. The Rest of Humanity

In the United States, for the most part, all you have to do is be relatively cold to someone trying to pick you up and they will leave you alone. If they don’t get the message from your eye rolls, they will leave when you say “no.” For my part I think it is because of our awesome legal system, American boys can smell a law suite cooking from a mile away. Chalk it up to the lack of a legal culture that smiles upon law suites for anything and everything, but this is not at all so in France. It doesn’t stop at the “salut les filles, on peut venir avec vous” and the hungry, leering faces that follow you down the street as the sun sets, but follows you into bars and clubs and tries to anonymously touch your ass and expects impromptu make out sessions as you walk up the stairs. At first it surprises you. Sure the catcalls are creepy, but they still make you feel hot.  You realize quickly that the normal habits do not work here at all, that more is required, that you have to say no, flat out and you have to be mean and cold wherever you go. There are, of course, some people who are either too drunk or too small of pricks to take no for an answer. There are some that simply cannot imagine why you would not want to fuck them right on the dance floor, even if you say you have a boyfriend, or you flash them the ring you wear and say you are married. 

They lunge at you on stairways and look confused why you slap them away, they try and talk you up when you are on the bus and call you a slut when you don't respond, they never bother you if you are with a man. I find it incredibly sad that a woman cannot travel alone in the city, even in the nice parts, without a man and feel vulnerable. You want a girls night? Well, be prepared to have you ass touched as you wait for the metro and random horny boys see if tonight they can get lucky. You would think it was a town of fucking sailors. 

Dear French Men, you are not special, women are not all whores,  and no means no.