Tag Archives: Paris

Rich Boys, Turkish Toilets & Mosh Pits

When I was a wild and crazy 21-year-old, living in Paris and doing whatever the hell I wanted, my days were never dull and my nights were pretty exciting as well.

I was always meeting random guys and going to random parties – which were always spectacular.  One night I was invited to party right off the Champs Élysées– I think it was on rue Victor Hugo.

It was a great soirée complete with spoiled, rich boys ready to show all a good time and spend some serious cash.  The night went great – drinking, dancing, socializing… and then I had to pee.

I sauntered into the co-ed bathrooms and discovered that I was facing my long time fear – peeing in a Turkish Toilet.  If you have never seen this particular animal, it’s a hole in the floor with a place to put your feet – but remember to jump out as you flush or your feet will get wet.

I entered the stall, ignoring the fact that a cute boy was peeing next to me, lifted my skirt, pulled down my stockings and tried to perform a super squat directing my urine into the tiny hole rather than spilling it down my legs.

Success!  All was well dans les toilettes.  My legs were dry and my clothes were pee free.  I had managed to pull it off.

Back on the dance floor a mosh pit had developed with young, drunk Parisiansslamming into each other with of course, some casualties.

After a few more cocktails and some major ass-shaking, we headed over to Les Bains Douches – the hot club du jour in Paris in 1987.  Bains Douches was an exclusive “Studio 54” type atmosphere where you waited outside until you were picked to go inside.

The rich boys that we were with were a tad inebriated and tried to push me to the front in my see-through lace top and micro mini and very big hair so that we would all get in.   That didn’t work because the door Nazi would only let me in and no one else.

Then the poor, little rich boy pulled out a wad of cash and tried to bribe the chick guarding the door…

“Ça vaut pas la peine monsieur.”

Which is French for “No fucking way!”  We left with our tails between our legs (not mine – frankly I was a little aggravated I didn’t go in – but I couldn’t ditch my new-found friends) and trudged off to another club or bar – who remembers?

What I loved about Paris then and love about it now is that there is always something to do, someone to meet and somewhere to go.  You’ll never be bored unless you choose to be.

I never saw those guys again (at least I don’t think I did – so long ago) but I’ll always remember it like it was yesterday.  Twenty two years later I can still envision my surroundings and remember what it was like to pee in a co-ed Turkish Toilet for the first time.

I’ve peed in a few since then.  Have you ever?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010 – Re-published July 2011.

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French Doors

I love France.  Paris in particular.  I’ve been going to France since I was 16 years old.  I even lived there for a year and attended La Sorbonne.  I know the ins and the outs of the city even today – it’s like I never left.

There is so much beauty in the The City of Lights, its hard to focus in on just one thing.  The architecture is amazing.  No matter where you go, there is always something interesting to see.  I have a love for French doors.  They are so ornate and captivating that you can’t stop looking for more doors.

1.  Notre Dame de Paris

2.  Musée de Montmartre

3.  Dans Le Marais

4.  Dans Paris

5.  Numéro Quinze

6.  Hôtel de Chalons de Luxembourg 4 è

7.  À Minuit

8.  55, rue Geoffroy St. Hilaire – My First Apartment

9.  Au Jardin des Plantes

10.  Musée du Moyen Âge

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.

Rich Boys, Turkish Toilets & Mosh Pits: A February Post

When I was a wild and crazy 21-year-old, living in Paris and doing whatever the hell I wanted, my days were never dull and my nights were pretty exciting as well.

I was always meeting random guys and going to random parties – which were always spectacular.  One night I was invited to party right off the Champs Élysées– I think it was on rue Victor Hugo.

It was a great soirée complete with spoiled, rich boys ready to show all a good time and spend some serious cash.  The night went great – drinking, dancing, socializing… and then I had to pee.

I sauntered into the co-ed bathrooms and discovered that I was facing my long time fear – peeing in a Turkish Toilet.  If you have never seen this particular animal, it’s a hole in the floor with a place to put your feet – but remember to jump out as you flush or your feet will get wet.

I entered the stall, ignoring the fact that a cute boy was peeing next to me, lifted my skirt, pulled down my stockings and tried to perform a super squat directing my urine into the tiny hole rather than spilling it down my legs.

Success!  All was well dans les toilettes.  My legs were dry and my clothes were pee free.  I had managed to pull it off.

Back on the dance floor a mosh pit had developed with young, drunk Parisians slamming into each other with of course, some casualties.

After a few more cocktails and some major ass-shaking, we headed over to Les Bains Douches – the hot club du jour in Paris in 1987.  Bains Douches was an exclusive “Studio 54” type atmosphere where you waited outside until you were picked to go inside.

The rich boys that we were with were a tad inebriated and tried to push me to the front in my see-through lace top and micro mini and very big hair so that we would all get in.   That didn’t work because the door Nazi would only let me in and no one else.

Then the poor, little rich boy pulled out a wad of cash and tried to bribe the chick guarding the door…

“Ça vaut pas la peine monsieur.”

Which is French for “No fucking way!”  We left with our tails between our legs (not mine – frankly I was a little aggravated I didn’t go in – but I couldn’t ditch my new-found friends) and trudged off to another club or bar – who remembers?

What I loved about Paris then and love about it now is that there is always something to do, someone to meet and somewhere to go.  You’ll never be bored unless you choose to be.

I never saw those guys again (at least I don’t think I did – so long ago) but I’ll always remember it like it was yesterday.  Twenty two years later I can still envision my surroundings and remember what it was like to pee in a co-ed Turkish Toilet for the first time.

I’ve peed in a few since then.  Have you ever?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Related Articles

Le Mur Des Justes: The Wall of the Righteous

Inspired recently by some poignant World War II Occupation movies like Un Secret and Au Revoir Les Enfants, I decided to share some photos of memorials that can only make us remember and reflect the tragic circumstances surrounding the German Occupation in France.

This wall bears the names of the righteous among the nations who, in France, rescued Jews during the second world war, sometimes at the risk of their own lives.

Martyrs Français de la Déportation – right behind Notre Dame.




In Le Jardin du Luxembourg.

At Père Lachaise.




© 2011 J. H-M. and CultureChoc2010.

Statuesque Paris

In Paris, everywhere you go you see art.

On a building...

Au Jardin des Plantes

Dans Paris

Au Jardin du Luxembourg

Encore Une Fois

Bastille

À L' Entrée du Louvre

La Tour Eiffel

Sacré Coeur

L'Arc de Triomphe

Près de Notre Dame

© 2011  J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

French Movies or Movies About France? I’m In!

Cover of "The Chorus (Les Choristes)"

Cover of The Chorus (Les Choristes)

If you want to see spectacular special effects watch and American movie, but if you want a story, a plot, a movie of yesteryear then you should watch French.

My husband and I are drawn to foreign movies for so many reasons:

  1. They’re free of Hollywood assholes that seem to monopolize bored people’s lives.
  2. The story line is so much more interesting.
  3. It’s just not the same old sh**.

I speak 5 languages but mon mari speaks one – English – and he’s never been put-off by subtitles.  It’s something you get accustomed to – it becomes an art to watching movies.

I’ve seen so many but you be the judge.

Let me know if you have any questions….  Enjoy!

© 2011  J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Paris: A Lovely Way Of Living

America is my country and Paris is my hometown. – Gertrude Stein

I was born in Paris, and I haven’t moved, except until now – I live in the suburbs and I hate it. – Luc Ferrari

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. – Ernest Hemingway

Paris is always a good idea. – Audrey Hepburn

In my case, all true.  I feel like Paris is my hometown.  I now live in the suburbs and I hate it with a passion.  Inundated with soccer moms, over-priveledged children (no offense) and old people (I live at the Jersey Shore), the burbs are not my thing.  I thought I could adapt, but alas 11 years later, I’m still in Hell.

Even though there’s no place like home (and I am an American), Paris is one of those incredible cities with whom you can’t help but fall in love.  Props to Audrey Hepburn when she said “Paris is always a good idea”.

 

Batobus

Les Deux Magots

Looking Down From Montmartre

Sacré Coeur

Je chanterai...

Somewhere in the 18th

Near Abbesses

Pont Alexandre III

Just some of the reasons I love Paris!

 

© 2011  J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Taking It To The Street

If you have ever been to Paris, you know that it is one of the most beautiful (if not the most) cities in the entire world.

Everywhere you look , there is beauty, architecture, art.

Street art is no exception.

Un Arbre Au Bord de la Seine

Au Marais

Jardin Tino Rossi

Jardin Tino Rossi

Stravinsky Fountain - Beaubourg

Gyros on rue St.-Sévérin - My Favorite "Street Art"

Au Jardin du Luxembourg

Au Jardin du Luxembourg

In a Gallery

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Rich Boys, Turkish Toilets and Mosh Pits?

When I was a wild and crazy 21-year-old, living in Paris and doing whatever the hell I wanted, my days were never dull and my nights were pretty exciting as well.

I was always meeting random guys and going to random parties – which were always spectacular.  One night I was invited to party right off the Champs Élysées – I think it was on rue Victor Hugo.

It was a great soirée complete with spoiled, rich boys ready to show all a good time and spend some serious cash.  The night went great – drinking, dancing, socializing… and then I had to pee.

I sauntered into the co-ed bathrooms and discovered that I was facing my long time fear – peeing in a Turkish Toilet.  If you have never seen this particular animal, it’s a hole in the floor with a place to put your feet – but remember to jump out as you flush or your feet will get wet.

I entered the stall, ignoring the fact that a cute boy was peeing next to me, lifted my skirt, pulled down my stockings and tried to perform a super squat directing my urine into the tiny hole rather than spilling it down my legs.

Success!  All was well dans les toilettes.  My legs were dry and my clothes were pee free.  I had managed to pull it off.

Back on the dance floor a mosh pit had developed with young, drunk Parisians slamming into each other with of course, some casualties.

After a few more cocktails and some major ass-shaking, we headed over to Les Bains Douches – the hot club du jour in Paris in 1987.  Bains Douches was an exclusive “Studio 54” type atmosphere where you waited outside until you were picked to go inside.

The rich boys that we were with were a tad inebriated and tried to push me to the front in my see-through lace top and micro mini and very big hair so that we would all get in.   That didn’t work because the door Nazi would only let me in and no one else.

Then the poor, little rich boy pulled out a wad of cash and tried to bribe the chick guarding the door…

“Ça vaut pas la peine monsieur.”

Which is French for “No fucking way!”  We left with our tails between our legs (not mine – frankly I was a little aggravated I didn’t go in – but I couldn’t ditch my new-found friends) and trudged off to another club or bar – who remembers?

What I loved about Paris then and love about it now is that there is always something to do, someone to meet and somewhere to go.  You’ll never be bored unless you choose to be.

I never saw those guys again (at least I don’t think I did – so long ago) but I’ll always remember it like it was yesterday.  Twenty two years later I can still envision my surroundings and remember what it was like to pee in a co-ed Turkish Toilet for the first time.

I’ve peed in a few since then.  Have you ever?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

Reflecting On New Year’s Eve: Because I’m Not Ready For Any Resolutions Yet!

Times Square, New Year's Eve, December 31, 2007

Image via Wikipedia

Another New Year’s Eve has come and gone and I’m still waking up alone in my bed – Where the Hell did my husband sleep last night?

It was always a tradition in my family to watch the ball drop in Times Square at midnight from the comfort of our living room then have a feast complete with mini-hot dogs, provolone, pepperoni, Herring for my dad and a host of other pickies that we all enjoyed.  It was a joyous time to celebrate the New Year and to reflect on the past and try to improve the future.

When I stopped spending New Year’s Eve with Mommy and Daddy, no matter where I was, or what I was doing, I would always call them at midnight to wish them a Happy New Year.  This year was no exception.  Even though my mother is gone, my dad still has his 12 o’clock feast:  mini-hot dogs, cheese, herring and some homemade dandelion wine.

Looking back on New Year’s Eves gone by, I happily remember how I celebrated each one – even when they were not so happy.

  • Fun parties at my cousin’s house.
  • Crazy parties at my house.
  • Parties at hotels and restaurants.
  • Spending it alone in my bed crying.
  • Watching my husband fall asleep.
  • Dropping way too much money in Atlantic City on dinner and a wine pairing + $500!
  • First Night in Montclair.
  • Toasting with my family and friends.

I’m not sure if there is any happiness left for December 31st but I was glad to have some friends over this year.  I miss having a big party or going to a big party.  It’s just not the same anymore.  Maybe I’m just whining.

As my traditions fade I can only think about starting more.  My dream scenario is spending Christmas and New Year’s in Paris – in the city I love – not stuck in suburban Hell at the Jersey Shore.

Aside from all that, I AM thankful for my family and their good health and my good health – barring the miserable sinus infection.  I have a good feeling about 2011 because this afternoon while I was putting away clothes I found my lost gold earring that my husband gave to me.  I thought I lost it a while back and recently chalked it up to LOST FOREVER status.  Today I found it!

I hope the new year bring better days for everyone.  I hope you had a Happy New Year and I hope that 2011 is better than ever!

© 2011  J. H-M and CultureChoc2010