On the Broad

This post is inaccurately titled, but it was the first thing that came to me, so we'll go with it. Anyway, some of you readers--which, at this point, really only means WhiteSauce's sister--have probably been wondering: what have I been up to since the departure of the group, particularly my one and bronly WSJ? I will answer that question the only way I know how: with a mixture of disbelief and testosterony pride.

What, you think I've just been sitting around waiting for America to come back to me? Like I can't fend for myself? Like I can't get my own kebabs or watch movies about grapes without the feeling that I'm incomplete or, worse yet, sober? Whatever, man (ecogurl19). Fuck ça. I'm a grown-ass twenty-year-old. I don't need you looking after me; take your au pair shit back to the States.

So...pretty convincing, right? Okay, listen, it's been an interesting couple weeks in between hanging out with my fellow Americans and having to awkwardly insert myself into new, bizarre social settings. There is one thing that remains constant, though.

Basketball. Yeah, I said it. Basketball. Turns out, I've made more friends playing basketball in a week than there are seasons of Louie. Me and my crew, we take the tram across the Garonne to Stalingrad (which is kind of a misnomer; it should really be named "the neighborhood in Baltimore where The Wire was filmed") and hit the court like Kobe Bryant...get it? Court?

Basically what I'm trying to say is I make it rain here, which is actually the real reason I need to get an umbrella for the semester. (Groan.) Besides playing ball, I also had my first excursion last weekend, blowing up Paris for my birthday. I hit that city harder than Rick Salomon! (Someone give me props for that.) As WSJ explained, we spent my birthday stealing boats and doing the fist pump at the INOX Festival featuring Avicii, Skrillex, Steve Aoki, TIËSTO, Axwell, and plenty more. But before that happened, I had this mortel brunch at a place called Cafe Le Bal near the Place de Clichy. Check it out, knuckle-têtes:

(Courtesy of Phyllis Flick but mine looked pareil)

So it was really a day to remember...or not remember, if you catch my drift. What did I learn from my birthday weekend? Answer: the City of Lights is exhausting and, much like doing shots of rosé through your eyes, it's fun until it blinds you.

That's all for now. By the time you get this post, I'll be nose down in a carafe of sangria. The Musee Aquitaine thing was a joke; good one, Jamie. Bro, remind me to tell you about my host family's sauce magique.