a long entry about an elaborately-planned fellini-esque soirée
I will tell you a story about this one party I attended on Wednesday. It wasn't just any party, really. It was a 5,000 person affair in the Grand Palais, you see. The company that Thierry works for threw a red-and-black themed soirée.
It was Fellini-esque.
We were greeted by people in costumse, in masks. Some held lanterns and some mumbled in Italian.
Some were on stilts.
I searched for tables and chairs. No luck. We ate dinner standing up. And by dinner, I mean appetizers, because we stood next to the wrong table.
The company's President stood on stage to give a bumbling speech about how proud he is of everyone. Notable excerpts include (and I paraphrase): "And I am happy to say that we are number one in France! But just in France. We aren't number one in Europe. But in France! Not in Europe though. Just France. But that's still really great!" - "We made blahblahblah as profit this year. Okay, well that's actually a decrease from last year. But it's still pretty good, don't worry!"
I became bored during the speech and turned to Thierry's friends and colleagues to declare, "Je ne parle pas francais" even though I had been speaking with them in French just minutes earlier. They looked so confused.
Anyway, the place was pretty.
But it was freezing cold. I had tried so hard to find a nice dress, yet I never once removed my coat that evening. That's okay, though, because I wore a dress I had already owned. And it was fugly.
In fact, I went to the outskirts of Paris when trying to find a dress, thinking everything would be cheaper. That was true, except the store was dirty and full of crying children. One sole mirror hung outside of the changing partitions. I decided that it was too stressful competing for mirror space with French women, so I left.
Due to some poor decision-making skills, I took the metro to Les Galeries Lafayette. There, everything was considerably more expensive. I hastily bought the first dress I tried on, only to regret it a few minutes later when I realized that I really wanted to buy a trench coat instead. 10-15 minutes after the dress' purchase, I found myself in front of the same cashier from whom I'd bought the dress. I babbled something in awful French about how I had changed my mind, sorry. Luckily, I was well within the fifteen day return period, and the unhappy man at the counter gave me a full refund. Kind of embarrassing, but well worth it!
So, okay, back to the party.
After the President's speech, a number of acts appeared on stage to entertain everyone, one after another.
First up was a lady who sang opera. She started with a song from Georges Bizet's Carmen. As all the Frenchies wrinkled their noses trying to figure out which language she was singing in, I answered their question, "ummm, French." They wrinkled their noses even more before finally relaxing their faces and exclaiming, "ahhhh, oui!"
I'm the token American. Next, she sang a version of the Beatles' "Ticket to Ride". This version should be banned everywhere in the world. Imagine a hammed up opera singer who probably has little idea what she's saying, singing any Beatles song in the style of an operetta. "My b-a-a-a-a-a-b-y-y-y-y dun caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare." It was amusing. I sang the original for everyone else and immediately they were like, "Wha? She's singing THAT song???"
After her performance, we witnessed a sword fight. And then a bunch of people dressed in costume paraded around the area in front of the stage.
Just like that.
Next, a circus performer came out. Fellini-esque, I tell you! Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah" started playing. I had stayed up late crying to that song a few nights prior, so I felt emotionally vulnerable the second I heard Jeff's heavy breathing. So the one song that makes me cry without fail is playing... and there in front of me is an oddly dressed man balancing himself on top of wooden blocks and aluminum cans. It was a most baffling song selection for his act.
And then, before people started dancing, the stage erupted in bubbles, confetti, and primary colors.
I was actually quite miserable for most of the evening. At one point, Thierry left me alone with this one guy who hadn't yet spoken a word that evening. When my boredom turned into insanity, my frown snapped into a sick toothy grin and I cooed, "I'm cold, hungry, and tired. Oh, and my feet hurt. How are you?" Later, I made him feel further uncomfortable when I declared that I loved chocolate so much that there is no possible way he could understand how much I love it.
By the end of the night, I found a chair. And I sat in it. A drunken man approached me and asked if he could take my picture. I said no. He said I was breaking his heart but wished me a good evening. That was when I noticed that my mask was broken. The party greeters had given everyone red and black masks. Oh well.
In the car, I grew bored.
And took pictures of myself in the dark.
I needed to tell you that story, because it was such a surreal experience.
I even took pictures as proof.
It was Fellini-esque.
We were greeted by people in costumse, in masks. Some held lanterns and some mumbled in Italian.
Some were on stilts.
I searched for tables and chairs. No luck. We ate dinner standing up. And by dinner, I mean appetizers, because we stood next to the wrong table.
The company's President stood on stage to give a bumbling speech about how proud he is of everyone. Notable excerpts include (and I paraphrase): "And I am happy to say that we are number one in France! But just in France. We aren't number one in Europe. But in France! Not in Europe though. Just France. But that's still really great!" - "We made blahblahblah as profit this year. Okay, well that's actually a decrease from last year. But it's still pretty good, don't worry!"
I became bored during the speech and turned to Thierry's friends and colleagues to declare, "Je ne parle pas francais" even though I had been speaking with them in French just minutes earlier. They looked so confused.
Anyway, the place was pretty.
But it was freezing cold. I had tried so hard to find a nice dress, yet I never once removed my coat that evening. That's okay, though, because I wore a dress I had already owned. And it was fugly.
In fact, I went to the outskirts of Paris when trying to find a dress, thinking everything would be cheaper. That was true, except the store was dirty and full of crying children. One sole mirror hung outside of the changing partitions. I decided that it was too stressful competing for mirror space with French women, so I left.
Due to some poor decision-making skills, I took the metro to Les Galeries Lafayette. There, everything was considerably more expensive. I hastily bought the first dress I tried on, only to regret it a few minutes later when I realized that I really wanted to buy a trench coat instead. 10-15 minutes after the dress' purchase, I found myself in front of the same cashier from whom I'd bought the dress. I babbled something in awful French about how I had changed my mind, sorry. Luckily, I was well within the fifteen day return period, and the unhappy man at the counter gave me a full refund. Kind of embarrassing, but well worth it!
So, okay, back to the party.
After the President's speech, a number of acts appeared on stage to entertain everyone, one after another.
First up was a lady who sang opera. She started with a song from Georges Bizet's Carmen. As all the Frenchies wrinkled their noses trying to figure out which language she was singing in, I answered their question, "ummm, French." They wrinkled their noses even more before finally relaxing their faces and exclaiming, "ahhhh, oui!"
I'm the token American. Next, she sang a version of the Beatles' "Ticket to Ride". This version should be banned everywhere in the world. Imagine a hammed up opera singer who probably has little idea what she's saying, singing any Beatles song in the style of an operetta. "My b-a-a-a-a-a-b-y-y-y-y dun caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare." It was amusing. I sang the original for everyone else and immediately they were like, "Wha? She's singing THAT song???"
After her performance, we witnessed a sword fight. And then a bunch of people dressed in costume paraded around the area in front of the stage.
Just like that.
Next, a circus performer came out. Fellini-esque, I tell you! Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah" started playing. I had stayed up late crying to that song a few nights prior, so I felt emotionally vulnerable the second I heard Jeff's heavy breathing. So the one song that makes me cry without fail is playing... and there in front of me is an oddly dressed man balancing himself on top of wooden blocks and aluminum cans. It was a most baffling song selection for his act.
And then, before people started dancing, the stage erupted in bubbles, confetti, and primary colors.
I was actually quite miserable for most of the evening. At one point, Thierry left me alone with this one guy who hadn't yet spoken a word that evening. When my boredom turned into insanity, my frown snapped into a sick toothy grin and I cooed, "I'm cold, hungry, and tired. Oh, and my feet hurt. How are you?" Later, I made him feel further uncomfortable when I declared that I loved chocolate so much that there is no possible way he could understand how much I love it.
By the end of the night, I found a chair. And I sat in it. A drunken man approached me and asked if he could take my picture. I said no. He said I was breaking his heart but wished me a good evening. That was when I noticed that my mask was broken. The party greeters had given everyone red and black masks. Oh well.
In the car, I grew bored.
And took pictures of myself in the dark.
I needed to tell you that story, because it was such a surreal experience.
I even took pictures as proof.