Wahahaha. Oh my God. C and I, and her little sister S, went to the Jolly Roger last night for a toot. And got some crazy Italian mofos to buy us tequilas.
Well. We learnt how to say “bless your little cotton pants” in Italian. (Because he didn’t know what ‘doondies’ were in his mother tongue.) Like, whatever.
“Salute tua piccolo cottone pantolone.”
One's name was Vittorio, and was cute barring the Forza Italia blue shirt and excessive chains around his extensional limbs, being his neck and arms. Apparently he hails from Venezia and likes demi-French dames like myself, “eef only you-a let-a your-a hair-down-a.”
Huh?
In true chauvinist, yet charmingly adept Itie, he asked me to let my hair out of its constrictive, yet practical ponytail so that he could imagine us having sex in Marseille.
Cheque please!
You see, it’s not the ponytail, fratello. It’s the fact that you want to boof me in Marseille, which is France’s dubious little secret: it is a whoring slum.
So. A couple of tequilas and Italian vernacular later (I studied Italian 101 in first year, and the drunker I get, the more I can speak it, see.) “Vardo la bar, Casanova. Io voglio cinque (cheenkwe) tequilas per io e mie amiche, mio piccolo bicicletto. Ma salute tua cottone pantolone.”
(I’m going to the bar Mr Handsome. I want five tequilas for me and my friends, my little bicycle. (???) But bless your cotton pants.”
He said to meet him at Jolly on Venerdi. Or Friday. Um, no no, scusi, ma no.
Another highlight of the evening was when C, S and I were talking rather loudly, ok, rather at the top of our fucking voices about penis size, when I screamed “I haven’t had sex in fucking weeks!” at the top of my lungs round about the time the dukebox song had come to a formidable and sanctifying halt. I hid under the table, hoping and praying for someone, anyone to put on some Def Leppard, or anything that’s resembles white noise. Only to attract two Jolly Roger local 50-year olds to our fucking table (They’re there everyday - I know this because the waitress said so) and he thought because I hadn’t had sex in months means that I obviously am desperate to have sex with him.
Never has a decision been so misguided in his life.
I happen to like shtoinking my vibrator and bloody hell if I didn’t do with gusto last night on arriving home and accosting The Ant (actually Il Antoloni) with my newfound Italian dialect. Salute suoi piccolo cottone pantolone, Antoloni.
Sweet Darryl, when you’re not looking for it, every single dodgy man in the bar will, no WILL, hit on you, even when one is trying to have a fairly-clandestine conversation about penis size with one’s female friends.
PS: S says that a bent penis, is actually a fairly fucking fuckable penis. Apparently bent penii are great in the sack.
PPS: “How many have you had?” (screeched the disapproving Ant on my disruptive, whirlwindy arrival home – at a suitable hour mind you – 9:48pm)
Ant “Answer me you shit, you, how many have you had…without me!”
Peas: ‘Shit’…Zat would be…merdo…in Italian.
Ant: You shitfaced shit.
Peas: No. No sheetfaced sheet.
And then we watched TV.
I was woken at 2:13am by an sms from Ex S, who is currently on the Berlin leg of his German/Eastern Europe/Scandanavian holiday. It said:
"Doubt you really want to hear from me, but have to say I am missing you. Berlin is amazing and there are so many places and buildings that remind me of you. You would love this city! Dreading going to Cologne and Amsterdam, will be tough. Hope you ok. Love me x."
We did Cologne and Amsterdam together last year.
I miss Europe.
30 comments:
So that's why I struggled to learn foreign languages - no tequila. Damn!
holy cow!
And I thought the Jolly was boring.. obviously I used to go there with the wrong people... (read: all my boring old married mates and their partners!)
Kyk - I'm telling you, it's the juice that binds nationationalities! :)
Daytripper - usually it is the kind of place you meet to smash a pizza and a beer. Last night, however, took an unexpected turn..;)
HAHAHA!!! That is sofa king funny! I know exactly how that feels when you shout something loud and the music just dies. I on the other hand was talking derrrty with some femanina and I think I was in the middle of describing my explicit thoughts and the place just went quite. I think thats the first time a black person went red in the face. It was quite a sight I tell you.
You make me laugh!
Suave - "I think thats the first time a black person went red in the face."
wahaha Suave! You make me laugh too my dear! :)
is small bum tryyyyyying to making a silent entry......into known lands???
looks like....he is missing you.....TONS!
fida .. ..
How many times do I need to say it Peas, Thursdays is for Tequila, Jagerbombs and hangovers on Friday. Now you up for the formidable Quadruple header to contend with. You have more stamina than me my Friend! M ps: Have an Irish Wake this evening, 30th tomorrow and Sin City conference on Sat, viva la Prohep!
Ah hump day rears it's little head once again. How does the head feel this morning? At least you can remember smatterings of the foreign language.
"excessive chains around his extensional limbs" - ick. I just cannot do that kind of jewellery on guys...
Daytripper - you've had some okay times since at the dodgy, ahve you not?
Fida - Not Small Bum my friend. Ex S the longterm Big Ex. We're still mates, most of the time, so contact is a usual thing.
M - your weekend sounds a helluva lot more interesting than mine so far! As for stamina, I'm not too sure. It may be a reclusive weekend after last week's events! :) I wasn't hammered last night, which was great, just an ennsy weensy tequila buzz. ;)
Jam - I'm not a big fan of excessive jewellery either! Had I had more than 2 tequilas I wouldn't have remembered the language thing. Thank goodness I didn't! :)
Well as long as you were not snorting the tequila, everything will be okay...
Yes, as long as! :)
jam>> I have found that fun at the Jolly is totally dependent on the company one is with.... *grin*
Daytripper - absolutely. And we're a rowdy bunch of girls at the best of times. ;)
Peanut - no problem. In a very short nutshell, end last year (November/October), my longterm 6-year Ex S and I called things a day. We lived together and realised that our domestic foibles did not quite match as previously expected. We'd been together so long I think we became more like the bickering brother-sister duo than passionate lovers and suitable life partners.
He moved out. Messy ending. I met Small Bum, loved his socks off, and he dumped me. And Ex S was helluva supportive of me, which I appreciated. Now we're mates, sort of, it goes in cycles.
I suppose because we were together for so long, we have a long history, have done alot together and have many of the same friends.
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However, I may have to decline with the Convulso, of course, unless you throw in a free tube for free for my bulk efforts in ordering a box of Repulso. I am luckily a owmn of free reign when in comes to my cookie, and luckily I don't need squirtational lube, as half the fun is in the journey. I don't think I need to eloborate.
Henceforth, this memo tends to serve for a box of your vert best Repulso (do you do free delivery?) as I may need it for the weekend that is almost upon us. Unless of course I meet Jake Gylenhaal, in the unlikey event, at Manhattan nightclub, and need to scrub it off rapidimento. Does it scrub off? Easily? Like in the furore of a ladies room?
A manuel on usgae would also be much appreciated.
Yours in pheromones,
Your faithful and emotionally-estranged client,
Ms Peas O'Toast.
Pointbreak - Yes.
Pointbreak - Yes.
Tequila is so incredible with its powers of foreign language transmission (particularly Italian it seems) that I once had a full 20 minute Italian convo with some Italians in Melville.
I have never learnt a word of Italian. I had consumed enough tequila to believe I knew how to speak Italian. They had also consumed enough to believe the same thing.
I would have given anything for someone to have recorded that convo & played it back to me the next day.
Champs - perfect! I don't believe anything I said last night was anything mildly coherent in Italian, yet he seemed to understand the crap that was coming out of my mouth.
Love it. Have you noticed that your whole persona changes as well. My hands were flying everywhere, I was shouting, when in English I probably would've kept more mono-tonal.
When next in Germany...
Someone commented the other night that when I have to say one or two french words, the entire sentence I am saying gets said in a Frenchie accent & my whole body language changes.
(I need to say more French words cause I think I sound damn hot then!)
Jaaaa, but the German conversational tone & flair isn't doing it for me. Maybe for Helmut...?! How about some Russian.
I simply love it when peeps get drunk, meet some Italian and start conversing. They use about 6 Italian words that they know and the rest of the time just speak English with an Italian accent...and it seem to work.
(this of course holds true for all foreign languages)
Why is it that we think that by assuming the foreign accent, the non-english speaking foreigner knows what the fuck we're saying??
Or is it just a matter of us being so impressed with ourselves that we don't notice the fact that the other party doesn't have a clue what we're saying, is trying to be polite and will hopefully find out where the train station actually is, through sign language.
Dosvidanya Comrade Champs!!
Prost! My grandmuzzer, or how do you say, my babuschka, she lived in gulag during vorre. And drank a razzer lot of vodka. She had a vooden nipple, because she voz ravaged by bear.
Good grief. Sorry. Where the hell did that come from??
When I first started living in France, I was invited to a 21st. I shat myself, because I couldn't speak very well at that point. But I got hammered on Bordeaux's finest and managed to have a conversation about communism and the greater liberalism as well as come right.
It's all in the body language and accents. Most definitely.
Ooo babee, ze way you two zspeka Rushian makes me fheel lika Wanda. (Ja, I'm not explaining. You can track down the movie).(Also I seem to speak Russian with a slight Italian accent)
If it's all in the accents & body language, excuse me while I got to update my CV to being able to speak 7 languages. Level of ability: Proficient.
Fuckin A Peas!!
U miss Europe???!?!?!!?!?!?
U fucking star I wasn't expecting that ending!!
Respect girlfriend
Champs - I'd hire you as my KGB person. :)
Shortypam - and another success story involving mother's milk - tequila, thank you! ;)
Muddle - ha ha. Ex S and I always travelled very well together. So I kind of miss the fact that I'm not on this trip with him too...sigh.
I have a concept for a new product REVOLVO CONVERSO.
Basically it's a device which you record what your foreign beau is saying in his native language.
It then performs a simple text based translation.
Options are:
a) He wants to shag you!
b) He will buy you a drink & wants to shag you
c) He's gay & wants you to buy him a drink
d) You remind him of his mama back home & he wants to shag he
e) Please tell the poor fucker where the airport is, he misses his mama.
Excellent Peas, I hope that this would mean I get to shag many hot undercover enemy spies, all in ze name of wurk!
So Revolving, no matter what the guy says it translates into one of those 5 phrases?! If so I wouldn't even mind one from English to English.
Rev - mesinks zat your translator iz faulty.
Zat iz my Ex. E iz not foreign, e iz travelling abroad. Ve are passed za phaze of wanting to boof each ozzer. Ve respect and care for each ozzer in a healthy ex sort of way.
However, maybe e misses my bodkin becoz e iz in a place zat remindz him of me.
Canasnostra?
Hey Peas. Just had a flashback of wandering around Amsterdam, not feeling my legs and nearly paying 10 Euro's to watch ducks fuck in the canal.
good trip, that was
Adrian, hello you!
Shit it's been ages!
That was a bloody great trip, wasn't it?
I have flashbacks of me and Jules getting wasted on vodka Red Bull and falling all over the Rijks Museum park.
Good times! :)
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