French Girls Will Dig Me.

No means yes.

I didn't know that the first time I found myself in Paris.

It was on a desperate whim. An alternative to my suffocation. The
constricting snake like suburbia I found myself choking from. I needed out.
What better out than Paris?

Romantique.

French girls would be all over me. All over this European cocktail. One
part French. One part Italian. Two parts Norwegian. A sprinkle of genius
writer.

Yeah, they'd dig me for I am from San Francisco.well a suburb there of, but
it doesn't matter when you're 5,000 miles from home.

Burlingame. 15 minutes south of San Francisco. There's no connection for
me in Burlingame. I don't have an SUV and there's no type of Starbuck's
coffee to define my identity.

So I scurried over to France to loosen the noose of boredom around my neck
and woo women.

What's your name?

Yvette.

Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?

No.

Bon jour, je suis Tony.

Bon jour?

Vous ete café por moi?

No.

Pardon, parlay vous anglais?

Yes?

Can I buy you a drink?

I don't think it's a good idea.

And on it went.

Rejection drove me to drinking. Drunk in Paris. Romantique?

My French Grandfather was drunk a lot. He'd black out. Arthur DuShane.
His blood was French. His soul was empty. He'd get in fights he'd never
remember. Come home bloody. He wasn't a tough guy.just an angry drunk who
blacked out.

I never black out. I get drunk and stay fully aware and guilt ridden as the
room spins around me. Must be the Norwegian side of my European Cocktail.
Grandpa Tor, Tor Dogsland. My Norwegian liver keeping me alert while my
head sways back and forth. Thanks grandpa Tor...thanks for not turning the
lights out.

The niggers are taking our jobs my fresh off the boat Norwegian long shore
man grandfather would tell me. The "niggers" had more claim of America than
Tor ever had. Tor would speak English and you still couldn't understand him
through that thick Scandinavian accent.

He always wanted me to join the Sons of Norway. It's OK if you're only ½
Norwegian, he'd tell me. I could care less. I thought all Norwegians were
drunk racists who worked on boats.

My aunt, Tor's daughter, married a Mexican. Oh, the rage. The fury. Her
kids, my cousins, look more Mexican than Norwegian, but we share the same
Norwegian blood. I wonder if they can black out from too much alcohol. I'm
not sure if he offered them the Sons of Norway deal. I wish I were ½
Mexican. I wish I were ½ black. It would've fucked up my grandfather more
than he already was. I always wanted to fall in love with a black girl,
bring her to grandpas and watch his mouth hit the floor.

I need a Xanax.
I feel like drinking beer.

Necesito un Xanax.
Me siento como la cerveza que bebe.

Posted by Tony DuShane at February 24, 2003 02:11 PM