Students Night Pseudolesbian Canadian French Invasion
Wednesday night. Student’s night in Newcastle. I jump on the train at Maitland. This cute dark haired girl gets on… but she looks like a lesbian. I wave her over.
“Uhh… hi. Do I know you?”
“No, not at all. But hey, take a seat, join the party.”
She had the strongest handshake of any girl i’d ever met.
I got to chatting to her for a while, then Lou called me. Sort of killing my game, but I have to catch up with Lou. Pseudolesbian got off at Thornton or something. I gave her a high five and she grabbed my hand in that “I want to touch you” type of way. Or to be a little less subtle, the “I’m down to fuck” type of way.
When I got to Waratah, four cute Canadian girls got on. I don’t know what I said to them, but it must have been fun, because whenever I flared my eyes at the redhead, she flared hers back. Mirroring. I do it three times in a row and she cracks up. We step out onto the platform and I say “Well, it looks like this is it Sandra…”
“Yes it does, Jones.”
“It’s time… to dance!”
And I grab her and start doing a little salsa or something. Her friends are wandering off.
“So you’re coming with me to Customs right?”
“No… I can’t.”
“Good, I thought so… I thought you would come. It’s good to have a friend you can rely on.”
“Let’s tango towards my place.”
“Well… gee, I like to get to know a girl first…”
I’m holding onto her as we walk across the road. I start dragging her to Customs as her friends walk off. But I stopped halfway down the block. She says she has to go. Her friend appears out of nowhere and takes her home.
When I got into Customs I tried to find and call Francois. I’d met Francis and Francois about a month earlier at Customs. They were two Frenchmen, staying at a backpacker’s around the corner. Lots of backpackers came to Customs – that’s why I liked it, German and French and Welsh womens.
When I met Francis and Francois… I was standing at the bar talking to this cute chubby girl from Northern Territory. She was telling me how she used to wrestle crocodiles or something ridiculous. Then she says “Come meet my friends!”
I went out into the courtyard to see a bunch of crazy French and French South African motherfuckers yelling at the top of their lungs “Le saucisson! Le saucisson!” and generally acting as French as possible. I just happened to have my beret on me, so I pulled it out and put it on. They loved it. Instant friendship.
I couldn’t find them tonight though.
I went and talked to three girls sitting down on the verandah. I came in high energy and started getting nice with the blah blah blah. I was off the wall.
They were all “Yeah… we’ve just been getting dinner at maccas” or something
“Really? Man… I have a friend at work who is Tongan.”
Pregnant silence. “Were you going somewhere with that?”
“No, just felt like saying it.” And they started cracking up
“You’re so crazy!”
But I guess I was too crazy, because they swiftly departed after that.
Then I went to the bar and standing next to me is this smoking six foot blonde. Her name is Crista. She’s got a polish background. I guess it’s true what they say about polish women… that they’re fucking hot.
I take her into the next room to get away from the noise. I start telling her how I’m a musician. I make hardcore gangsturr music with phat beats.
“Oh… P H phat?”
“Nah… more fat like you burn it to a CD and it weighs 80 kg.”
“Wow… … … that was a really lame joke…”
“Yeah, I know!” and I gave her a big smile. Hold the tension, love it.
She cracked up “Damn! I was trying to make you flustered but it didn’t work!”
“Hm… I have heard of this phenomenon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my friend Cara, she lives in Melbourne. Nice girl… also extremely hot. Whenever she goes out to bars, guys come up and talk to her. It’ll be about five, ten minutes, and she’ll say something to throw them off, like ‘Hey, why don’t you go talk to that girl! She’s hot’”
“Ohhh yeah.”
“My friend says it’s like the man is driving the car vroooom and the girl is in the passenger seat trying to jerk the wheel out of his hand” I mime steering the car.
“Yah… I guess that’s true. Gimme that.” She tries to take the wheel.
She says she really has to go back to her friends, it’s some farewell party or something. She enters her number meticulously into my phone. The super hot girls are normally more receptive. Go for the super hot girls. I think she doesn’t get approached that much, because she’s so hot. She can handle herself, but…. well, her stumbling over the congruence test, getting flustered over it herself was a case in point.
Five minutes later, Francis and Francois arrive.
Francis “Ohh… Jones…. we won’t be in Newcastle much longerrr… we are going to ze Melbourne next week”
“W T F mate… I’m going to Melbourne next week!”
His face lights up and we laugh hahahahh ahhah ahhhahahahhahahhahhahh and hug and give each other european style kisses on the cheeks.
We sit down and drink beer and shoot the shit for a couple of hours. I’m hollering at every girl that walks past. About one stopped the whole time we were sitting there.
Then we head to the Great Northern. I’m grabbing girls to dance with them… and letting girls go when they give me nasty faces. People are out in fancy dress. This one couple, a girl and a guy are dressed like Luigi and Mario. How cool.
I grab this chubby girl and start making out with her. Stage 3 alarm. This girl’s tongue is moving like an epileptic windscreen wiper on E. Every time we hit the pause button on the make out action, she wipes the saliva off her mouth… with her entire arm. The friend doesn’t like me, keeps dragging her away. I try to make friends with the friend, but no go. When the club closed… I didn’t. Goodbye chubs… I waved at her as she crossed the road outside. She didn’t look back… then I cried. Not really though.
Francis says to me “’Ey Jones, don’t worree about going ‘ome tonight – we ‘ave a… big room, back at ze ‘ostel. We ‘ave the ‘ole top floor, ze penthouse.”
“Won’t the proprietors mind that I’m staying in your room for free?”
“Nooo… no matterrr… I am working ze counter in ze morning.”
“Ahhh… the inmates are running the asylum, huh.”
“Yes, it is so.” He said matter-of-factly.
I woke up the next morning, in the loft on the top floor. There were no beds, only mattresses, surfboards, two Frenchmen, a Belgian, and me. It was after midday and Francis had finished his shift, so we had to perform a French tactical manoeuvre to get me out of the hostel. Francois went down to the bottom of the stairs and hollered out en Francais, to Francis, on the middle of the stairs. Finally Francis told me the coast was clear and I went down and snuck out the side door. Mission accomplished. Except for the getting laid part… that mission was not accomplished. Though when I woke up in the morning, Francois did ask me if I wanted to have sex with him. I guess that counts for something.
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Comments (2)
Saucisson !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That’s awesome bro ! You’re fucking good, i won’t forget all the time in Newcastle !
Best Time ever !
Let me know when you ll be in France ! It’s just the beginning !
Bitch ass niggaz !
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