Good, Old-Fashioned Tits and Ass

I haven't done one of these travel posts on my blog for awhile. Mainly because I forgot all about it and they do take a looong time to post (think it takes you long to read them?) . Then I remembered that Ross and I still had a few days in Paris after New Years Eve, days spent riding the metro, exploring, adventuring and spending the last of our Euros.


But keep reading, I promise I will get to the part about the succulent bare boobies and jiggle-free bums that paraded in front of my eyes.

(no, that's not it)

Those days were sort of uneventful, just pleasant milling about the city, taking in the sights and sounds and permitting ourselves to do not much of anything. We did a bit of shopping, looking at the holiday displays at the Bon Marche.


And strolled down the crowded streets of the Latin Quarter(it's New Years Day, shouldn't you people be sleeping off your hangovers? Crazy French).


We wound our way to the Notre Dame, where I had fond memories of being harrassed by a Tunisian man years before.



Where I indulged in hot mulled wine (mmm, public drunkeness makes you feel so warm).


We also went by the Hotel De Ville to watch people fall on their tres petite arses in the skating rink.


And walked along the Seine, attempting to be romantic and coupley.




Afterwards I found a bar dedicated to me.


And a metro stop.


The next day, we walked to the Eiffel Tower...



We were way too lazy to actually stand in line with all the crazy people, as you can see, so we just shot video and took pictures. Once again, second time in Paris and I still haven't been up the damn thing.




Then we went to a nearby cafe where we sat and drank for hours, taking a mirade of quality (read: trying to be artsy) photos, all while we killed time.




Killed time for what, you might say?


It was our 11-month anniversary and we splurged on a night at the Moulin Rouge.


The Moulin Rouge needs no explanation, but I will attempt to anyway. This cabaret "Red Windmill" is as dynamic as the seedy neighbourhood of Pigalle that it's located in.


Because it is so famous, there is a huge lineup, despite your required reservations.



And what really sucked was that you weren't allowed photos inside. Boo-urns! But they did have a professional photographer go around and we gladly forked over dough for our memento of the evening.


Being at the Moulin Rouge is a unique experience. You are seated next to people you don't know, in our case it was two old ladies. Well, one old and one REALLY old. From what I got from it they were niece and aunt and from Tel Aviv, but born in Russia and living in Paris. Or something. Whatever, the old woman had been living in Paris for 80 years. I think it was her 94 birthday or something crazy.

And to celebrate, she took her niece to see bare breasts.

It's true, the entire show the ladies proudly dance around and sing with their mammaries flying about the place. Luckily, most were petitely endowed so there wasn't too many thoughts of udders, though one voluptous blonde definitelty had some clout over the others. I was mesmerized watching hers bounce about, as was Ross...and probably every other man there.

But it wasn't just breasts! And bums! It was ponies and pirates and everything else I love.

And one insane, naked woman who got into a tank filled with live pythons and tried to swim with them. "Tried to swim," meaning that the snakes kept trying to swim away and she would literally pull on them and wrap the poor things around her body. Classic!

Here is a short video of the Ferie show that we saw:

Click Here (Opens a new window)

I should also mention that boobies aside, the food was superb. Pricey, yes - my "middle" meal was 97Euros, Ross's was...more - but so worth it. Was especially nice to have a bucket of champagne at your table and your own waiter who sneaks you glasses of Kir Royale for free. Plus there is something so decadent about ordering a three-course menu at the Moulin Rouge. You don't do that every day.

So that was the rest of our days in Paris, before the loooooong haul home with a looooong stop in New York.


And then finally our motel in Seattle, where we would stay before our drive back to Vancouver the next day.



Whew! That's all she wrote!

*****

Ok I lied. That's all I'm gonna write about my France/Scotland trip...at least on this blog.

In other news, it snowed today. Just when you think winter is gone, it pulls you back in!

Actually it was wacky pseudo snow. It was warm(ish) and sunny...and yet little white flakes were falling down from who knows where. It didn't settle or set on the ground, just made everyone look like they have dandruff.

What else? I've delved into more culinary artistry and just made myself butter chicken. It's so freakin' spicey I may just have to have another glass of chardonnay. I'm so glad I have these pre-chilled, emergency wine bottles at hand.

But hell, I deserve it.

Do you know what I had to do yesterday? Go back to freaking bootcamp! You would have though that they would have known my whole body was stiff and in pain and that I wouldn't have to go.

But I did. And this time, I had a different instructor.

This one likes to yell at you.

A lot.

"PULL THOSE KNEES UP HIGHER! YOU, YES YOU, THE FLABBY BLONDE ONE! WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A WALK IN THE PARK?! WORK IT HARDER! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"

At one point I had to do push-ups only my poor, painful pecs couldn't handle it, not even the girly way.

Yet, she (Psycho Nazi Bitch) still had to come over to me, point out that I wasn't doing it correctly (ie, not going down all the way) and then proceeded to push me into the ground until I ate sweaty gym mat.

I'm not even going to get into what happened when I was handed a jump rope and was told to skip. When I was little I was never invited to jump rope...I was always the one twirling the damn things. This is why:

If I didn't trip over my own feet, get my legs tangled up in the cord or wasn't hitting myself in the face with the thing, I was hitting other people in the face with the rope as they tried (in vain) to sneak past me. None of this was on purpose though, I am seriously that uncoardinated. Although I did try a little bit when Miss Fit passed within reach.

I wonder how I will manage to embarass myself further and whip others with my inane clutzyness tomorrow?