Thursday, June 4, 2009


There’s this party tonight where I really want to go. It’s the French Aperitif, it happens in over 20 cities around the world. Basically, it’s just a big marketing event to promote French products, mainly food and liquors. It’s a 60$ ticket open bar party where all the people from the restaurant and bar industry go to every year, my people.

Two years ago, I wrote a column about the party for The Journal.

Last year, I called the organizers to be on the guestlist. They said that due to limited places they could only accept journalists. I was asking for two places on the guestlist, since Harry had come home that very day from his year in Europe. So I told them that yes, it would be two journalists, and I gave her the name of a colleague from The Journal.

At the door, the girl with the guestlist appeared suspicious when Harry introduced himself as my colleague. They let us in, but the girl ran up to me and told me: I’m sorry, but [colleague’s name], I know him. I don’t like being lied to.

That kind of ruined my mood for the night.

This year, I still don’t have tickets (they normally get sold out in one after-noon). And I don’t want to call the person responsible of the media, just in case it’s the girl from last year.

I called my buddies who do the bar for the event, they’ll se what they can do.

I also emailed my uncle. He’s there every year, the party is organized by one of his best friend. The first year I went, I knew he’d be there, but he didn’t know I would. It was funny to see the shock on his face, when he saw me walk through the crowd. Later in the night, he introduced me to everyone he knew, sometimes twice, but at first, he was a little paralyzed by what probably made him feel 20 years older, just like that.

Oh. My uncle emailed back.

“24 hours, I would have said yes, but not today.… I think you can find some at the door.”

Yeah, but at what price? I want to invite Blondie. She’s the perfect date for such a night: incredibly hot and we’re just friends. But I can’t tell her to meet me there, all dressed up, in the hope that I can find tickets at the door. And two tickets, from a scalper at the door? That’ll set me back a good 200$.

I hope the boys will be able to come through on this one.

Maybe Scarlett, with her infinite address book, will be able to help. If she’s there, I can go alone with her. She’s probably an even better wingman than Blondie could ever be.

And it’s almost 3pm now and I don’t know if Blondie even wants to come.

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