Ms. One Night Stand

Fellow blogger, Ryan, has recently taken to bribing me to go out and get laid.  She started by promising me champagne and home-baked sweets.

I was intrigued, but not very motivated.  Sweets don’t really move me, and champagne tends to give me the hiccups.

But then she promised to show me her interpretive dance skills.


So last Friday night, on my quest to make Ryan showcase her infamous finger-snapping, thumb-pointing dance moves (<–), I managed to:

  • lure some young man to my apartment,
  • lose my pants,
  • and earn fifteen euros.

Man, I WISH the Guillermos had looked like this...

The night started out harmlessly enough.  My flatmates and I met up with some friends at our regular pub.  For reasons as yet unclear, I had a bit too much to drink.  We met these guys, and somehow, I thought that all three of them were named Guillermo.  I was probably too off my face to bother with their real names.

After approximately five minutes of conversation, I pounced on one of them.


Classy, I know.  I’m not sure WHICH Guillermo it was, but I didn’t really care at the time.  I was thinking: “You’re my ticket to Ryan’s dance-a-thon!”

One thing led to another, and the Guillermos came home with us.

But then, most likely due to the fact that my blood had been replaced with alcohol, I became very, very stupid.

The true love of my life.

My decision-making process here was VERY hazy, but the end result was that I bolted out of the sitting room, ran off to bed, snuggled with my hot water bottle, drooled on it a bit, and then passed out.

Obviously, by then, I had completely forgotten about Ryan’s bribe.

When I awoke the next morning, I was disorientated, hungover, un-sexed (damn!), and very confused about the current state of affairs in my bed…

I was still fully clothed from the waist up (shirt, sweater AND scarf).

My pants!

But I wasn’t wearing any pants.

As I glanced around my room, I realized that my pants were nowhere to be found.  In fact, I checked every room in the apartment.

No pants.

“Oh well,” I thought.  “Who needs pants anyway?  My underwear is bitchin’.”

So I wandered woozily back into the sitting room, where my Guillermo had left his phone number on the table.  As I peered at it through one eye (I can only open one at a time when I’m hungover, apparently), I realized that he had signed it “N.”

I thought, “Wow, I didn’t know that Guillermo starts with an N.”

Yeah… I was probably still a little drunk.

Then, during my morning-after wallet-check, I found fifteen euros.

For the record, it was fifteen euros more than should have been in there.

Considering my inebriation of the night before, I didn’t — couldn’t — think about where it came from or what I did to earn it.  So I just mumbled, “Cool,” and shuffled back to bed.

So what have I learned from my one-night non-stand?

  • I should not drink white wine.  Nothing good comes of it.
  • Even at my drunkest, I am unable to follow through with a one-night stand.  So I will stick to other, tamer methods of courtship.
  • I love my hot water bottle more than sex.
  • I will never let Ryan bribe me ever again.
  • I need more pants.
  • Guillermo does not, in fact, start with the letter N.
  • Guillermo, in fact, is not named Guillermo.

In any case, since I will forever associate non-Guillermo with such a disastrous night, we really have no future together.  So I must say:


n.b.  Special prize will go to the first person to correctly guess where I ended up finding my pants.


Filed under Misses

21 responses to “Ms. One Night Stand

  1. Zoë

    Helene, you just made a very sleep-deprived, stressed grad student LAUGH for a few minutes. You are very very funny, and you’ve done your good deed for the day.

    LOVED THIS LINE: “Oh well,” I thought. “Who needs pants anyway? My underwear is bitchin’.”

    OK, but I’ll seriously take a shot at guessing where your pants were: Coiled up, politely, in the kitchen. Or in the sink, where you accidentally confused your medicine cabinet with your clothes dresser.

    • Aw, thanks, Zoë! Laughter is great for stressed grad students, so I hear 🙂

      As for your guess, you are quite close with the “coiled up, politely” part… All that’s left is the exact location of said coiled-up pants! And as for the sink, they weren’t there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I did end up finding my pants there; I’ve been known to leave the TV remote control in the fridge (sober!).

  2. mwhahahahahaha
    oh silly manshopper
    Why must you make it a challenge, why why why?!?
    You know I must now bribe you again with something.
    Love this story, love. it.

  3. julieparisienne

    I was there for every part of this story. I can corroborate that she seriously jumped that poor dude in the pub and then dumped his ass, and then he came into my room in the middle of the night looking for her!!

    I can nothing more but I am still shaking my head in disbelief. Next time Ryan when you bribe her, can you get her to bring them back to yours?!

  4. Ha! So funny, especially the missing pants. Although passing out with a scarf on is probably not the best idea considering it’s around the neck…
    Maybe you should call N-Guillermo and check with him? Ok, maybe not…

  5. Typh

    Somehow the begining of the story rings a bell!
    Totally witness the first scene! I was actually wondering if it was going to make it to the blog. Glad to hear the end of the story, you are never disapointing on gossips dear Helene!

  6. @wanderingmenace – You blackguard. You know that I can’t resist a well-placed bribe. Can I bribe you NOT to bribe me? You know that I make a badass gingerbread cookie…

    @julieparisienne – Again, apologies. You really shouldn’t have given me that hot water bottle. I won’t ever get laid while it’s in the picture.

    @Kelly – Yes, the scarf wasn’t a smart move on my part. What a way to go… death by cashmere scarf… I bet my mother would have loved that.

    @Typh – I am slightly mortified that so many people witnessed my total lapse of sanity. I am too old for this… But I am always glad to provide entertainment for my dear friends! 🙂

  7. I want to see these bitchin’ pair of panties. Seriously…

    Sorry to hear the N didn’t molest you. I think the secret is to get him drunk rather than yourself.

    • All my panties are bitchin’. I believe that bitchin’ lingerie should be a universal human right. When I take over the world, I will outlaw frumpy underwear and air-drop lacy underthings and condoms over war zones. Bam! World peace.

      So getting him drunk is the secret! Now that I know, that changes the game a bit…

  8. Hilarious! and though it’s been revealed that you’re pants were in fact still in the apartment…this is my original guess

    Guillermo with an N offered you 15 Euros for the right to take your pants home and claim to all his friends that he did indeed…talk the pants right off a hot lady…

    • hahaha, I’m sure that he’s currently claiming that he talked my pants off. It’s too bad that the true story is that my hot water bottle charmed my pants off that night…

      My pants were indeed in my apartment (thank god!!), but I was definitely surprised at their location when I did eventually find them. I still haven’t worked out the logic behind it all, but I’m sure that it made sense at the time!

  9. Ari

    Just wanted to say hi, I’m stopping in from 20SB. Lol your blog is hilarious, will definitely be subscribing to your feed to live vicariously thru you! 🙂

  10. LOL. I was also there to witness the magic. You forgot the steaming, brothing, bowl ‘o noodles we prepared for the Guillermo’s before you inexplicably disappeared to bed. Next time, yup, no white wine.

  11. Apparently your Guillermo starting with “N” wasn’t into taking advantage.
    But I have to say I really enjoyed the reading.

    • I’m glad that you enjoyed it! The mother of all hangovers that I had from this experience was ALMOST worth the story that it yielded. Almost.

      The hangover was truly unbearable.

  12. Pingback: Ms. Drunk at a Club | Man-shopping in Paris







  14. Pingback: Ms. Lap Sitter | Man-shopping in Paris

  15. Lilmissrae

    HAHA I am in love with your blog! I met an exchange student who is French and I was doing some research on how French men are to date and found your blog. Please tell me the pants were in the shower or perhaps outside.

    • Haha, the pants were actually neatly rolled up and tucked into one of my boots. Strangely enough, NOT the boots that I wore that night. It was all very strange and incomprehensible. Am so glad that you’re enjoying the blog!

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