La vie nocturne à Paris.

Rules for getting wasted in Paris.

1. Pre-game with a bottle of wine - Drinks at a nightclub can be from 15-20 euros a pop, which can tally up to quite a bill. Pre-gaming will loosen everyone up for the long, cold metro ride to Franklin D. Roosevelt, Palais Royal Musée du Louvre, or wherever you choose to party. (Plus your heals won’t hurt so bad).
2. Check in your coat - Even if you have a table, don’t leave your coat laying around, especially if you’re keys and wallet are in your pocket.
3. Set aside cab money - While the ideal night includes going home when the metro opens, it’s best to set aside some cab money just incase someone gets too drunk, the club is awful, or your just too tired.
4. Don’t accept drinks from men – When a man buys you a drink, you’re stuck with him for the night. Remember to only accept the drink you poured yourself.
5. Stick with your girlfriends - The night ends up so much better (and safer) if you’ve brought your best friends.
6. End the night on stage with the band- that is you’re ultimate goal. Begin by slipping into the VIP lounge if you don’t already have a table. Dance on the couches, eventually the party on stage will let you on.

The best nights at dawn when the metro opens after dancing all night on stage. Let loose and have fun, it’s Paris.

La vie avant 21 ans.

Hey World,

Haven’t been in the mood to write lately…too much real life going  on here. In Paris life is a dream, even the crappy things feel like a story. Family and true friends make life real again. Thus, I’d prefer to keep things to myself.

Though I will share this :

Last night was friday night and my bff and I needed to get out. We found a classy bar called Chloe, but neither of us wanted to suffer the embarrassment of getting rejected for being under 21. We are adults who work hard, we pay taxes and contribute to society, thus we deserve to have a drink on a Friday night. This culture forces the youth to run rampant.

So with no real options, we did what most kids our age do on a Friday night : hit up a party off the UCLA campus. The neighborhood was rampant with post-adolescent vigor : red cups and booze all over the street, music playing from 4 different parties, some guy singing “vagina on my dick! vagina on my dick!” from the rooftops. Honestly it felt uplifting to be with college kids again. Beer pong, red cups, slutty girls, drunken shirtless men, vomit on that couch — we could only sit, watch and enjoy.

“Who the fuck are you anyway?” I know some of the girls wanted to yell when their men slid over to on draguer (I miss this word). There was no need to worry, the men have no game.

“What’s your name?”

“India”

“Oh hey, are you Indian?”

“No.”

“Oh hey, but you look kind of Indian”

“You think?”

“Where do you go to school?”

“I go to school in Europe…Paris, actually.”

“Ohhhohhh! Wow, Paris. Hey where is that anyway?”

“Ummmm….Texas”

“Hey I’ve been to Texas once”

And then a drunken shirtless man comes between us to vomit over the balcony.

Here is a video of the male stripper who came for the birthday boy. I spoke to him later, not once in his 8 year career had he performed for a man and he was offended. LOL.

Does anyone know how to get into a bar without a fake ID?