Last night marked my first house party in France.
I know this sounds horrible, but I don't really like parties all that much. I tend to isolate myself in a corner, arms crossed. I much prefer to meet people one-on-one for a cup of coffee. It probably has something to do with the crowds and the unknown.
Needless to say, I spent the last few hours before the party in my room trying to come up with a valid reason why I couldn't go with Melody to the party. Stomach bug, lost contact, venus in retrograde - all seemed like acceptable reasons. But then I remembered my little promise to myself to make a genuine effort to open myself up.
So I found myself at 21h04 wandering around Place du Cirque looking for rue Saint Laurent, which turned out to be little more than an alley. After a few minutes and buzzing two wrong apartments we were walking into a party.
Everything ended up being okay. I was introduced to about fifteen people, only a handful of which whose names I can actually remember. Thankfully the wine broke down some of my barriers so that my broken French didn't seem so bad and I just kept pushing on. I did learn a few keywords in French: le bif (slang for red wine), le tire bouchon (corkscrew), and oser (to dare to do something). I also learned that, while six glasses of wine is a lot, eight is definitely too many.
So now I've amended my promise to myself: Try to be more open and watch how many times your glass is refilled.
I know this sounds horrible, but I don't really like parties all that much. I tend to isolate myself in a corner, arms crossed. I much prefer to meet people one-on-one for a cup of coffee. It probably has something to do with the crowds and the unknown.
Needless to say, I spent the last few hours before the party in my room trying to come up with a valid reason why I couldn't go with Melody to the party. Stomach bug, lost contact, venus in retrograde - all seemed like acceptable reasons. But then I remembered my little promise to myself to make a genuine effort to open myself up.
So I found myself at 21h04 wandering around Place du Cirque looking for rue Saint Laurent, which turned out to be little more than an alley. After a few minutes and buzzing two wrong apartments we were walking into a party.
Everything ended up being okay. I was introduced to about fifteen people, only a handful of which whose names I can actually remember. Thankfully the wine broke down some of my barriers so that my broken French didn't seem so bad and I just kept pushing on. I did learn a few keywords in French: le bif (slang for red wine), le tire bouchon (corkscrew), and oser (to dare to do something). I also learned that, while six glasses of wine is a lot, eight is definitely too many.
So now I've amended my promise to myself: Try to be more open and watch how many times your glass is refilled.
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