NUMBER TWELVE: Elissa Says No to Drugs

I was originally going to call this post "Who Goes to the Discothèque on Wednesday Night?" and have the body of the post be "white people," but enough went on tonight that I can't leave it all out. 

We went through our usual pre-outing ritual this afternoon; Victoria talked about everyone who was going, but by the time we actually got to our destination, it was just us and Laura. At least I was allowed to dress myself today. I looked like a hipster. Classy, though. Classier, as usual, than my companions. 

The discothèque was damn near empty when we arrived, and I immediately wanted to leave. The thing about my friends is that we would have all seen the old, old ass white people and the young, young children on the dance floor and all headed for the door. There were maybe twenty people max, and at one point I counted seven, on the dance floor. The DJ was NOT THERE, he walked away and let his MacBook play the EURYTHMICS. The day I dance to the Eurythmics...

So I chain smoked blacks and watched hokey white people dance, a category that includes Victoria and Laura. Eventually, the PG crowd was replaced by a younger and equally small collection of people. One of them was a really, really cute guy I saw when we were walking in. Victoria and Laura were mortified to be in his presence. They knew him from school and thought he was ugly and did not want anything to do with him. So I did what anyone as bored as I would do; when Victoria and Laura were dancing, gosh, I just don't know what happened, but suddenly I was talking to the boy and his friend.

The boy they know, Nicolas, asked me stupid questions about Victoria and Laura, who were moving like whities on the dancefloor in their Euroclothes. "They like to dance?" "They're French?" "They're in high school?" Finally, he got around to what he really wanted to know. "They're pretty," he told me, flicking his head at my friends. What do I say to this? "Do they have boyfriends?" I told him Victoria did, and I wasn't sure about Laura, but I thought so. I mean, they made such a big deal about not wanting to talk to him because he was ugly, isn't that what they wanted?

Apparently not. They invited us to go smoke a joint with them outside the club. It was a cute little scene; several French youth-three girls, two boys, and young couple-hanging out outside a discothèque, smoking joints and leaning on vespas. The joints they roll their are very tight and much like a cigarette, and consist of a block of hash surrounded by tobacco. I really did not want to smoke, so I declined and watched Nico's friend, Victoria, and Laura smoke the joint. Nico and his friend asked Victoria and Laura if they had boyfriends. Suddenly, the answer was "no." Way to make me look like a fucking lying idiot. Nicolas had been literally throwing himself at Victoria on the dancefloor, and even now he was making a big deal about how cold she must be. Maybe that had changed her mind about his looks and whether or not she had a boyfriend? And at the end of the night, numbers were exchanged. So you're welcome, French girls. I enjoyed having my ego steamrolled so that you could have another notch in your bedpost.

On an animosity-related sidenote, Victoria and I have entered an unspoken competition. I noticed that Victoria wasn't eating all day, which pissed me off. That is a skanky thing to do because it makes all other girls feel fat, and I'm competitive. And now even more than that, I'm hungry. Fuck!