today i am in france.

not really, but i am as close to france as you could possibly get without leaving new york.

i start the morning with a wake up call from a friend. i’m super tired because i went out the night before (drinking, cuban food, choc fondue, hookah pipes, middle eastern pastries, dancing, drinking, karokee and more drinking). i didn’t get home until after 4:00am.

i wake up to the sound of a jazz diddy that is the ringtone of my cell phone.

“uhhh … hello?”

“stolie?”

“uhhh …. yeah?” i say as the hangover / dehydration headache kicks in.

“you’re still going to the petanque thing, right?”

“uhhh … yeah.”

“okay, let’s meet there. see you at 10:00.”

“uhhhh okay,” i say as i realize that it is 8:45am and there is absolutely no way that i’ll pull myself together by 10:00. i get up. i shower. i make up my face. and, at 11:30am, i meet up with the group.

timeout new york says that approximately 7,000 people are expected at the festival today. supposedly, this brooklyn neighborhood accounts for 86% of the french that live in nyc.

“le brooklyn” they say.

it’s no wonder that the petanque fest takes place here. and, it’s really really crouded. although, even with the crouds, i spot a dashingly handsome 6′ 2″-ish french man with medium-length, dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes.

he’s gorgeous and he’s rubbing the shoulders of an equally gorgeous black woman who is sitting with her friends.

“ah, anne-sophie,” he says in a thick french accent, “you look so beautiful today!”

oh, to be anne-sophie at this moment. oh, to be anne-sophie and to have Mr. Oh-La-La rubbing my shoulders.

he catches me staring at him and he smiles. i smile back and then i look away.

“i know your number, Mr. Oh-La-La,” i silently think to myself. “you’re trouble.”

later, i watch my friends play petanque and then i head home. i’m tired. too much wine. too much ricard. not enough sleep.