Les Blues a le Hangover

On friday I joined my frog friends to witness France-Togo. I thought it was going to be some small gathering at the Rigegrovy Sady beergarden, with a bigscreen and relaxed vibe. Instead it was a bunch of crazy-ass french people in Zidane and Henri jerseys screaming and swearing in the most beautiful language in the world. I was pulling for Togo (after all, the US can't lose to a crappy African team while France wins!) but had to suffer the indignity of a French victory. But the french fans were unaccustomed to victory, and kept trying to surrender to passers-by. I was up for a nice relaxed evening of drinking beer under the trees, but my french friends had other ideas. Some of my colleagues were leaving the company, and there was the usual party to celebrate their impending freedom. Unfortunately no one knew where they were, so we milled about outside the beergarden for an hour, drinking beers and waiting for someone to get in contact with the proper authority. By this point the french were completely smashed (this being 11pm), and singing their songs aggressively at the confused czech women walking by. We also picked up some gigantic black frenchman named Jean-Paul who spent the next three hours laughing hysterically. He didn't speak english at all, but got around this by smiling and laughing with everyone. He was a big hit. After this we wandered off to the pub and joined a bunch of our colleagues. Beer, etc occured, nothing really notable. One of the female managers is leaving the company, and was aggressively hitting on most males in smelling distance. She was an absolute shark, and I was scared to look at her. I retired with my beer to the street, and drank in the relatively joyous company of the drunk french people. But this bar decided they had enough of us, and shut off the tap. After this we were off to Nebe. Nebe, for some reason, is one of the more frequent places that expats congregate. I know not why, as beer is small and expensive, and their dancefloor is about the size of a postage stamp. On the other hand, they have wide, long and comfortable couches that offer ample opportunity to drunkenly make out with the person of your choice. Some of our colleagues did so - myself and the french crowd surrounded them and applauded politely. Then D (32) introduced us to his mistress. We had a conversation like this: Me: Wait - is this your girlfriend? D: (In cheesy french accent) No, this is my lover! Me: ! D: She is a student. and (drawing close) she does some *ahem* softcore... Me: What?? D: And she's eighteen. Me: (Laughing Hysterically) She was all over D, trying to hug him and get his attention. But D seemed much more interested in hugging myself and Matthieu, and then singing French football songs. The mistress got frustrated and left, as D casually responded to our objections with 'been there, done that'. Dumbass. After this we headed off to Le Clan, which is some sort of 'chill out club'. I didn't know what a chill out club was, but apparently it's underground, doesn't open until 3am, and there's a lot of red. By this time I wasn't sure what was going on, so I can't really report what happened. Although I know I ended up at a table with 4 other guys, two of them gay, drinking beer at 5:30am. We stumbled into the 6am sunlight unhappily, our hangovers like stalking tigers. We wandered over to McD's and put down some big macs, then went home. I slept until 4, then went to get pancakes. I then got back into bed at 6 and slept until Sunday. Not a productive weekend, but nonetheless I had fun.