back to the (lack of) grind... no. 5

Well, I've returned to France for another two months. Many of you requested that I continue documenting my adventures, and who am I if not a woman who aims to please?

I decided to move my 'French kissing' entries to Blogspot, giving the series its own home rather than a sleeping bag on the unvacuumed floor of my blog about the UK...

Enough introduction. Bienvenue and enjoy!


Who: Gender Not Specified
Pick-up method: Here we have another bus encounter (I really recommend public transportation, readers. Not only is it better for the environment than taking your own car, but it definitely provides some much needed levity before and after work). I sometimes see GNS during my return journey. S/he often stares at me with a slight smile, uses general eyebrow raises, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary. What makes this interesting is that I'm not sure if I'm being flirted with by a male or a female... Is he a dirty rocker type, or does she just choose not to condition? Does she have a small rack, or does he have a slight case of gynecomastia? Does his mom buy his clothing, or does her mom buy her clothing?
Why I won't be sleeping with you: Before you go accusing me of discrimination and intolerance, it's not because I'm some kind of conservative . I belong to multiple GLBT-type organisations, feel an overwhelming need to kick opponents of gay marriage in the shins, and have been known to help various friends dress in drag for reasons other than a costume party. However, while I do like surprises, as a rule I prefer to know with what equipment I'll be dealing before starting a project. It just helps create an effective and appropriate plan of action. I hope you understand that it's not you, it's me. Okay, maybe it's you a little. Perhaps try that conditioning your hair thing...?

Who: Bird Feeder
Pick-up method: I was sitting by the river doing some sketching when the BF arrived with some bread. He stood nearby quietly feeding the pigeons, and every once in a while would toss a piece of bread my way. I would look up at him confusedly, and he would smile the dearest smile I've ever seen (this prevented my confused glances from becoming angry stares and possibly uncontrollable urges to shove my pencil into his eye).
Why I won't be sleeping with you: While you did manage to soften my heart enough to protect yourself from experiencing some extreme pain (or, at least, bread being tossed back in your face), you didn't manage to instill any feelings of desire. Perhaps you were attempting to prove yourself as a good provider, thereby appealing to my unconscious search for a mate who would invest in my offspring... but I'm not sure offering me pieces of slightly stale bread (albeit French, so probably better quality than fresh bread anywhere else) is the best way to do that. Next time, try something higher quality that you don't also happen to be feeding to random birds on the sidewalk. (Afterthought: I realise these birds might be your very best friends, and giving me some of their food could potentially be an important gesture. If this is the case, I'm flattered and I thank you. But no, I still won't sleep with you. Sorry.)