If there were a show called "True life: I Have Gigantic Calves," I would totally be the star. Seriously. They are the only curves I have.
… and even though I am not on a TV show, I sometimes like to pretend that I've got a modicum of fame, which (since months ago, some of you told me that you enjoyed reading stories that have absolutely nothing to do with the photos in the post, and because I recently read an article on Buzzle or some such site about this exact same topic), I've decided to share with you a time that I pretended to be famous and it worked.
It was Paris. July. 2008. I was 21 years old (if you've been following along for a while, you'll know that most of my best stories start this way). My time studying abroad was winding down. I'd discovered a lot about myself during my time in Paris: I could function in another country using another language, I was extremely gifted at feeding myself on a minuscule budget, and I LOVED les boîtes de nuit aka "night boxes" aka night clubs.
While I'd been to bars at university in the states, nothing could compare to the throbbing thrum of what I'll call Eurotrance (click HERE to listen to my all-time favourite Parisian boîte jam of 2008) of Le Cab… an underground club just around the corner from the Louvre (it no longer exists… I'd use a sad face emoticon here, but I have to close the parenthesis). I made plans to meet my Parisian pals at Le Cab on one of my last nights in Paris. My roommate opted to stay at our apartment and pack, and Skype her boyfriend at home, who she was deeply missing. I felt pretty important leaving our apartment around 2330 to meet the guys at the club. They knew the bouncers, so I got to skip the line and didn't have to pay the cover fee of 20 Euro. That in itself made me feel pretty spectacular.
Once we got in, the bass was PUMPIN' and I really mean it. All caps. Letter "n" apostrophe and all. I don't remember why, but a new section of Le Cab had been opened up this evening. There was literally an entire second half of the club and it was packed! We danced all over the place and found some small tables up against a wall in one of the new rooms. I'm guessing that these were for discarding empty drink glasses, but I decided to dance on one of them. I was a whole 2 feet above the rest of the people in the room and at some point, people started taking photos. Like, approaching me and asking if they could take my picture. Someone asked me for an autograph. I have NO clue who they thought I was, but I was on top of the world.
… now, I feel like I'm getting too old for clubs. I'd really love to feel famous again, but until a major network television (I'm looking at you, VH1) falls in love with my Twitter feed and offers me a show (oh, Nicole Richie… I'm happy to start my own spin off… Sincerely, Signe anyone?) I'll just have to look fondly back at my brief hours of pseudo-fame…
… and now… my calves and this amazing dress!
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