NYE

New Year Eve

Whilst this could arguably be a field report I'm not going to write it as such as it wasn't really my intent to go out sarging - and I was completely drunk.

The night turned messy before it has even started. Beer, followed by shots of tequila then vodka, followed by more beer again at my sister flat meant that by 9:30 when we headed out we were all completely tanked. House party #2 and the booze carries on flowing. A friend I'm with reckons we should head to the town centre and watch the fireworks, so we head off.

Fireworks french style suck - they don't really know what it's all about, but afterwards the fun started. We started wishing a happy new year to every single fucker we could see. Women, men, families, old people, children... the works. And after we'd scared off every bastard from the town square we then started chatting up every single women we could find.

It's been a firm decision of mine not to drink when I go out sarging. I know I can attract women when I lose my inhibitions, but the reason I don't drink is that I a) want to be able to achieve the same results sober and b) i want to attract a higher class of women than the ones who look like HB10's through beer goggles. So, since I started I've learned a ton of new skills which have lead to sober success with women. But holy fuck, when I unleashed these techniques whilst drunk I turned into a monster. I kiss-closed girls left right and centre. I ended up with a total of 7 kiss-closes in the space of an hour (all HB8's and 9's). My favourite was the girl who stuck her tongue down throat and then stopped and told me she shouldn't because her boyfriend was standing behind her. I told her not to worry and we carried on.

French kissing is called that for a reason. Those French chicks were far better than the girls we have back home. France 1 - England 0, when it comes to kissing with tongues.

Anyway, it was unreal. And the booze kept flowing. I kiss-closed a couple more girls in a bar we went to and then there's a big black hazy moment. Next thing I know I'm sitting in a posh hotel eating croissants, with vomit down one side of my cashmere coat and blood trickling down my head onto the other (edit - days later I still have no recollection of the three hours during which the wound and vomit happened). Some poor 15 year old kid looked scared out of his mind as I yelled at him to serve me more coffee. A group of Parisians looked on stunned.

I will never know how, but at 9:30 I arrived back at my sister's flat.

- - -

Oh yeah and nothing happened with FrenchChick#2 - I kiss-closed her but then she got really drunk. Ah well...

-B