GABANNA
Dolce and I have been in denial about being college graduates for a while, so when a $500 trip to Miami was discovered we immediately booked it with two of our friends, Amber and Melanie.
We stayed in a pretty poppin place where everyone was around our age and down to party.
The first few nights we were there we met a lovely assortment of people to hang out with;
unfortunately for us their vacation ended and they headed back to reality while we stayed to
party.
One night we got ready to go out and were debating where we should go when we stepped out of the elevator and right into England.
“Where are you birds headed tonight?"
The four of us stared at the three hot British guys as Melanie shouted, “You sound like you’re from London!” (if you don’t know “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” shame on you!)
As we all died laughing the boys simply stared at us and told us that they were going to a bar called Clevelander if we wanted to join them. Um, duh! Who was going to say no to hot guys with accents? Definitely not us. The guys grabbed their beers as we started our adventure down to the bar.
On the walk we were introduced to Damien, Pat, and the Lorax who were all visiting from
London and were vacationing in Miami and the Keys for two weeks. We started off walking
and talking while they tried teaching us English phrases to say and making fun of our New York accents. As the walk went on, everyone began pairing off. Now remember, there were three guys and four girls. Unfortunately for myself, I was left bouncing between the pairs.
Finally we arrived at the Clevelander. It was the perfect place: outdoor bar, pool, LMFAO
blasting from the speakers and a ridiculous amount of people. We were in heaven. Our group headed straight for the bar and the boys bought us a round of beers. As I reached for my camera to start the photo shoot with our new friends, Pat took out his phone and asked someone to take a picture for us. The guy he asked clearly had no idea what he was doing, since all of our heads were chopped off in the picture.
“Let me handle this,” I said. I turned to a group of guys right next to us and tapped one guy on the shoulder. He turned around, and stared at me.
“Can you take a picture of us please?” I asked sweetly.
“Yes, yes of course!” he said in a French accent. Yup, apparently we were touring Europe that night. He grabbed the camera out of my hand and thankfully managed not to chop off our heads.
“Now, you take one for me?” I took his camera as his friends all piled together. Now, when
you pose for a picture, you’re not supposed to move. Well apparently the French like to jump and push each other when they’re being photographed, so everything I took came out blurry. Frenchie began teasing me that I didn’t know how to take a picture and I yelled at them for all moving. Apparently he thought my bitchiness was charming, because he immediately told me he liked me and bought me another beer. Hey, I wasn’t complaining.
So while Dolce, the British and everyone else went off to the dance floor I stayed and tried to have a conversation with Frenchie. You should all know that I don’t speak a word of French, and he didn’t really speak English. Our conversation consisted mainly of us saying “what?” and trying to mime what we were saying so the other would understand. After a while Dolce came over and dragged me to the dance floor.
“Do you need to be saved?”
“I don’t know yet.” He was nice, but extremely clingy, which was proved as he magically
appeared behind me and started dancing with me. And by dancing I mean wrapping his arms around me like a python and not letting go. After a few minutes of this I decided I did NOT want to dance with this kid anymore and tried talking to him again. I still wasn’t able to understand him, and turned to the British guys for help.
“What is he saying?” I asked Damien.
“You know the British hate the French, don’t you?” he said with a look of disgust.
“Ohhhhh…so you’re not going to help me translate?” He laughed and turned back to Dolce as I sighed and tried to think of an escape plan when those python arms grabbed me and tried to make me “drop it low.”
“Nope! Don’t do that dude!” I turned around to yell at him and found myself an inch from his
face.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. Well if I couldn’t understand him, maybe we should just make
out…right? French people have to be good kissers. They have a kiss named after them for crying out loud!
Boy was I wrong. Apparently in France they kiss by using their tongues. JUST their tongues. It was bad. Like realllllyyyyyy bad.
I immediately started signaling for help as he continued to try to play tonsil hockey. Luckily
Dolce saw my frantic waves behind his back and grabbed me.
“Bathroom!” she yelled as she dragged me away.
“Jesus this kid’s the worst. Help me get away from him!”
“I got you.” She left and when I arrived back on the dance floor I saw her trying to explain
something to him while he looked upset. I started talking to Melanie and Amber when those
damn arms grabbed me and pulled me into a corner.
“You have a boyfriend?” he asked me.
“Ummm…yeah! Oh yeah I do I really love him I’m sorry.” I rambled on explaining how I got
mad at him before I left for Miami and that the kiss meant nothing, yada yada yada. Frenchie clearly didn’t understand and professed his love for me.
“Jesus,” I muttered as his friends came over and started speaking rapid French as I snuck away.
Melanie grabbed me and threw me at some guy, telling me that his name was Larry. She told me that he was also from England (though not friends with our group of Brits), he was a doctor and I should talk to him. I turned and saw Frenchie headed my way and told the British guy that he needed to be my boyfriend.
Before he had a chance to question me I turned toward Frenchie and told him “this is my
boyfriend we’re in love kbyeeeee” and dragged my new bf onto the dance floor.
Poor Frenchie. Should have learned how to kiss the American way and not be so clingy.
Moral of the Story:
-Have a secret code with friends so they know when to help you.
-Don’t kiss French people. They will shove their tongues down your throat and do nothing else
-Don’t kiss French guys with big arms. They will use them to kidnap you and not let go.
-Just stay away from the French. They’re only good for their fries.
