Originally Published APRIL 03
I have never been to France. At least in this body, in this lifetime. I have however psychically seen France through many client’s past life readings. But in actuality…all I really know about France is…French fries, French kissing and a few French men.
I have had a long time affair with someone French. His name was Fry, French Fry to be exact. Looking back, I have salivated over and swallowed some French fries that have tasted better than some of my romantic partners.
French fries don’t come from France. They originated in Belgium. The French call them pommes frites. Americans call them French fries because of how they are cut; as in French cut green beans. I think we should call French fries something more like raw oil saturated planks de potato. I mean you might as well just open up your mouth and pour the oil straight down your throat with how our frantic fast food chains and rushed restaurants serve them. I’ve been known to embarrass my dining companions by requesting that an order of limp fries be sent back to be properly cooked till hard and crisp. I worked as a waitress before. I know there is some sweaty short order cook who has furiously spit in my cuisine because I demanded that my fries be well done, while he just wanted to get on to his next order. If you are going to eat something so bad for your waistline to begin with, like you’re going to want to waste calories on this? (Yep, folks PsychicGirl even has issues with French fries.)
I also has an issue with accents. Actually, men with accents to get more specific. Maybe it’s something unconscious. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was born a nice Jewish girl and nice Jewish girls really don’t dig extra skin…if you get my drift. I think what happen is that somewhere early in my sexual explorations I ended up equating accent to equal un-circumcision. Two painfully big and one painfully small baises (French for four letters that start with an F) is all it took for me to come (or should I say not come) to this unsatisfying climatic decision.
I once met this French guy who didn’t have an accent. He was a friend of my then boyfriend. God I thought he was hot. I kind of wanted him…or at least to kiss him. But I wasn’t about to cheat on the boyfriend. Plus Frenchy had a girlfriend too. After I broke up with the boyfriend, Frenchy and I became reacquainted though a different group of friends. I discovered that Frenchy had also ditched the girlfriend but damn, he had just started dating someone else new. One evening a group of us decided to dine at the romantique French restaurant, The Little Door. However, chicky was running late and was going to join us later. How the evening progressed next, I am not proud of…but let’s just say that Frenchy was a porc (pig) and never answered his cell phone, so chicky never got the opportunity to join us that night. Quelques bouteilles de vin rouge plus tard, (a few bottles of red wine later) it seemed that Frency and I were ready to attack each other right there at the dinner table. The conquest I had desired was about to be all mine.
From here in you would expect this story to get really juicy…and oh it does, but not in the way you would think. You see after I got him…just like an order of soggy fries, I wanted to send him back. Yet this time I had no craving for this dish to be re-served. The long awaited kiss I had so achingly waited for…I should have just left at that. Boy my psychic senses were sure off on this one. This guy seemed so sexy and charming, but then with just one slip of the tongue… disappointingly I discovered that Frenchy kissed like a slobbering Saint Bernard dog! I’m not talking about swapping salvia here, but more like foaming of the mouth, as the entire lower portion of my face was dripping with his drool. (Eew.) I stopped and wondered if this was some French sexual delicacy, that I had yet to discover. But quickly realized if it was, I didn’t want to know about it then or ever. I had to say Cest la vie to Frenchy. But don’t fret about him. Frency got to have his cake and eat it too. Evidently chicky still dug the dribbler even after she found out about our little escapade. I truly hope they ended up happily ever after. At least we know they were wet. (One would think that I must have done something very bad in a past life to create this funky karma with the French.)
There is this other thing that’s kind of funky and French that I have yet to include here. I can’t really believe that it happened to me…or shall I take some responsibility here and say that I took part in it…oh, lets get real here, I was the one that instigated it! Well, actually only a wimpy-ass version of it. Jesus, I’ve shared my deepest darkest everything in this column. Evidently I have absolutely no shame what-so-ever that I am blurting out to the masses that I was involved in a manage a tois. But, as I said it really wasn’t all that…articles of clothing were left on by all parties (if that means anything.)
Back to the beginning where I was telling you how I don’t know Jacque Merde (jack shit) about the French, what I do know is that if you happen to meet two hotties at the same time who are friends, pick only one. Because no matter how appealing and provocative it may seem at the time…whatever happens in the beginning, or the middle…you pretty much can count on losing them both in the end.
When In France:
Belier (Aries) You stroll down the Champs-Elysee in search of a piece of âne. (booty)
Taureau (Taurus) You think you’re speaking the language, but while asking for the bathroom you end up in jail for propositioning an officier.
Gateaux (Gemini) You can’t decide on the left or the right bank, so you end up in the middle…wet, in the Seine.
Cancer (Cancer): You eat their food, drink their wine, visit the Eiffel Tower but complain the entire time.
Lion (Leo) You go to the Palace of Versailles, crown yourself emperor and are immediately overthrown.
Vierge (Virgo) You Metro straight to the Louvre where you convince yourself that you are the great work of art.
Balance (Libra) You spend your time figuring out the exchange rate and wonder if you’ve been ripped off.
Scorpion (Scorpio) You voyeur over to the Moulin Rouge and try to steal someone’s underwear.
Sagittaire (Sagittarius) You spend mornings in a café, afternoons shopping at Colette and evenings at a happening soirée.
Capricorne (Capricorn) You don’t comprehend the taxi driver so you get back on the plane and go home. Au revoir.
Verseau (Aquarius) You head for the Alps and climb the highest peak naked.
Poissons (Pisces) You spend your entire trip trying to figure out the bidet.