mardi 13 juillet 2010

cut off in my prime

I love technology.

I hate technology.

Depending on the day/hour/minute either or both of the both can apply.

Saturday I headed from Paris to Newark NJ on the big bird of Air France. The lovely people at Air France and CDG airport managed to get together and come up with a 90 minute delay as a leaving gift for me. Which was nice.

So landing in EWR already late, it was with much happiness and smiling that I welcomed the news that another aircraft was parked at our stand and wouldn't be moving for at least 30 minutes.

So much for my decision to bring cabin bags only. Like that saved me any time at all.

Anyway, technology. Upon landing (late) at EWR, I switched on my iphone. It found me AT&T and T Mobile. Quite the choice.

However, it refused to connect me to either.

I tried every trick in the book during the wait for the stand, the queue for immigration, during the line to collect my rental car. I carried on trying whilst sat in the queue for the Holland Tunnel. Whilst waiting to check in to my hotel.

By the time I got to my room, I was distraught. How to tell friends that I was in town? How to set up a date for the night? How to give out my number to hot guys. Oh yeah, and how to ring my husband to let him know I'd arrived safely.

There was nothing for it but to jump in a cab and head north. To the Apple store, driver, and don't spare the ponies....

Well, let's just say that my visit to the church of the holy pomme was less than a religious experience. I left the underground chapel of the apple with a phone that not only no longer worked, but that now had no photo's, no contacts, zero music and zero apps. Yep, they wiped the fucker.

Back at the hotel and with the world of technology and jetlag working against me, I attached the phone to my macbook and set it to restore before flopping on my bed.

I fell asleep hoping that things would sort themselves out.

I woke up with the sure fire knowledge that they had.

How did I know that my phone had reconnected to a network?

It would be the three am ringing, beeping and buzzing of the numerous 'where are you?' emails, texts, voicemails and facebook messages coming in from the ether.

Yep, I had reconnected.

Yep, I had woken up.

Nope, I didn't get back to sleep.

Yep, I hate technology.

vendredi 9 juillet 2010

The Canadians are coming

So I'm sat at my desk at work yesterday and in a dull moment, I decide to log on to a chat site that I visit from time to time.

Now, one of the guys I chat with is from Toronto and (promise) I was initially attracted to the photo's he'd posted of his art. The fact that he's as handsome as a handsome thing didn't hurt either. Anyway, we're both happily married men and so we chat about fairly mundane things but enjoy each other's virtual company.

So yesterday when logging on I get a message from him:

"Husband is in Paris with work and is bored to bits. Can you call him and take him to a bar or two please? Here's his number....."

And, being a good virtual friend, that's exactly what I did.

That's how, at ten pm I found myself at the entrance to the BHV greeting a very handsome Canadian guy. Now we're talking handsome here. Really handsome. Kind of 'be still my beating heart' handsome.

He was blond, stocky, big arms and shoulders, and a hairy chest showing at the top of his t-shirt.

Knowing how in love this couple is, I didn't dare get too excited. But excited I was.

So anyway, we meet up with a couple of my friends - the fiercies - and we get some drinks inside us. We start with chatting at the Freedj - my bar du choix. We then head on over to the Raidd bar to watch the boys dancing naked in the showers. Classy, right?

Anyway, it's whilst at the Raidd bar that Canadian Boy receives an SMS, looks at it, giggles and then turns to me and says "do you and FP have an open relationship?"

I splutter my beer over him, recover and try to be cool when I tell him that we do - but that we have no secrets. If we sleep with someone else it's allowed as long as the other one gets told about it.

"Yeah, me and hubby have the same deal" he said. And he showed me the text message that he'd just received from his husband.

It read "If he's that hot then you should absolutely go for it. And send me the photo's"

Now, beyond that what can I tell you? You know where this is going, right?

I mean, I could tell you about how we ended up in a sexclub. How we grabbed ourselves a cubicle. How it was the most amazing, passionate, dirty, refreshing sex I've had in a long time.

I could go on at length about his arms, his chest, his ass.

I could turn the whole encounter into a work of literature of epic proportions.

I could do all this, but I won't. I'll spare all of our blushes.

I'll just say 'hot damn' and 'God bless Canada' and 'oh my oh my oh my' and leave the rest to your imaginations.

But as a word of warning - be careful who you ask to look after your husband when he's away from home. You never know where it could all end up....