The Hangover

Al and I drink "the alcohol" regularly but we rarely overdo it.  But sometimes we overdo it.  Two friends came over for dinner Saturday night bearing robust English ales from a beer shop near their apartment.  French beer is crap so we've had a hankering for something with a little more personality.  Perhaps we got too excited.

At the end of the evening, we stood in our kitchen surveying the damage, swaying a little bit, and saying things like, "Only 16 bottles of wine and 52 unfiltered English beers?  Thank God we were so reasonable because the kids wake up in four hours."  Then Alex went to sleep in the bathtub and I curled up in front of the neighbor's front door.

(You know what else was a good decision?  Leaving the kitchen full of dirty dishes.  Because really, when you wake up the next morning wanting to die, a kitchen full of food-encrusted dishes is exactly the first thing you want to see.) 

Unfortunately for both of us, Alex had an appointment with his personal trainer, Thor, Sunday morning here in the apartment.  I had promised Al I would take the kids out, but when I awoke Sunday morning, I felt like Wile E. Coyote with an anvil on his head and was not very excited about the plan.  But I'm a woman of my word.  I stumbled into the sunshine dragging the kids, wearing my darkest shades and hoping I wouldn't throw up on a perfectly manicured shrub. 

We went to the Luxembourg.  There were many attractive Frenchmen wearing purple shirts milling around.  It was an event organized by the city to introduce kids to different kinds of sports.  Even in my agony, I realized it was a good idea to get Lucien involved -- we're searching for an activity that will capture his attention so he'll stop mooning his classmates.

The (only) great thing about being hungover on Sunday was I didn't care if I sounded like an idiot when I spoke French.  I accosted the closest Hot Purple Man and said, "Yo, how does this work, my kid wants to do this so make it happen, sweetcheeks."  I was mildly surprised when he nearly tripped over himself in his haste to help me.

We got Lucien signed up.  I walked up to every sport demanding someone help him box/tennis/judo chop/whatever.  I've never been so horrible and abrupt with people, yet for some reason I've never been more irresistible to French men.  I was approached, flirted with, and winked at more times in those two hours than my entire time in France.  I don't know what that means -- maybe I'm just super hot when I feel like sh*t and am being borderline verbally abusive.

I let Coco hold the camera while Lucien learned how to fence.  She accidentally took this picture of me.  I tinted it green because believe me, it's more accurate that way --

so much for the "super hot" theory

What you can't tell from the photo is I'm sitting next to the hip-hop dance area.  Rap music was blaring from large speakers near my head.  The rapper was rapping (in English)  "BITCH, YOU AIN'T JESUS,  BITCH, YOU AIN'T JESUS" while little kids cheerfully learned how to pop and lock.  At the second this photo was taken, I was thinking the rapture had happened, just like the crazy man said it would, and I obviously had been sent straight to hell. 

Here are some boxers trying to teach Lucien how to box.  He wasn't half bad but admittedly, I didn't see much of it.  I was slumped in the corner -- but I periodically yelled things like, "Yeah, get him!  Punch his lights out!  Eff 'em up good, baby!" to appear supportive.  This led to more purple shirts wandering over and asking me if I wanted to grab a drink later.

One of the boxers told me Lucien was better suited for judo than boxing because "he likes to throw people on the ground."  Excellent news!  Can't wait to see where that takes us in the future!

This looks more violent than I meant it to.  I just didn't want to show the other kid's face.

The Loosh liked fencing but only because he thought it was sword fighting.  The fencing Purple Shirt repeatedly told Lucien the objective was to touch the other person's chest but Lucien ignored him and continued to swashbuckle.  He didn't want to touch the man's stupid chest;  he wanted to hit his sword as hard as possible and say "Yah!"

It was about that time I laid down and did a little sleepy-boo on the tennis courts.

 Yah!  Errr.... Mommy?

Once I was sure Thor had left the building, we went home.  Alex took Lucien back to the Lux later that afternoon so he could finish up the sports we didn't do.  Al said it went well, especially the part were kids learned how to pop and lock while a rapper rapped about "Bitches and MILFs."  Alex found this utterly delightful.

I want "Bitch, you're not Jesus" sung at my funeral.  I think it sums up my life nicely.
MJ