The Birthday: Good as Ball

So I turn twenty yesterday. Total head-trip. But that’s another story. This is the story of the Eve of my Birthday.

Ever year in the town of Aix-en-Provence (or as we call it: Aix-en-Vacance) there is a ball. It’s called le Bal du Bapts. I was told about this event be a couple of the girls who are in my program. Naturally I thought their description of the ball to be gross exaggeration told to them so some French guy trying to ensure that they show up. But I decided to check it out anyway.

My evening started out by going to Finac (a Virgin-like store) to buy a ticket. Yeah, the tickets to the ball could only be purchased at a huge record store. I was a bit nervous about having to employ the little French I have to explain what I wanted. I was sure that nobody really knew about this ball and that it was just a glorified school dance.

I was wrong. Every single person in the store was buying tickets to the ball. Literally everyone, well except for one old woman who was clearly on her way to Paris and wanted to get her museum tickets in advance.

After getting spiffed up I pre-gamed on my own (my roommate was out of town with his girlfriend), an act witch I actually enjoyed because I was already thoroughly fucked up when I met up with the girls to drink more. We walked around to find a good Petiet Casino (like a small market) which would sell some booze. We could tell that everyone on the street was going to end up at the ball, they were all sufficiently drunk and dressed to the nines. Two guys walked past us and over their shoulders shouted, “À tout à l’heure,” at the young ladies.

We bought a bottle of Absolute (it was a special occasion and we are all missing America at this point—usually we stick to two euro wine) and went to another girl’s apartment to get proper drunk. I smoked some cigarettes and was feeling pretty buzzed. The pre-gaming session was quite strange. I was the only dude there and just listened to about ten girls talk about getting on somebody’s yacht in San Tropez—researching later and discovering that they were on the ten richest men list and married—and being sniffed by Weenie the host’s pug.

After the alcohol was finished we walked over to the ball—following the spotlights in the sky, it turned my birthday on the way causing much hoopla and we entered the ball.

I can’t capture how ridiculous this place was with a few ill-chosen words, but I will try. There were about 20 different venues all clustered around a huge L-shaped courtyard. Each room was completely different. There was a Rap room, Salsa, Swing, what can only be described as Wedding music, Techno (basically a rave) and several live bands performing Rock, French music, and my personal favorite Latin music. There were hundreds of lights and lasers all over the place (which I loved) and a Drum-line performing outside (which I really loved).

All of the town was there—at least all of the good-looking people (anybody under 35). The women were beautiful and the gentlemen were at least classy—you can’t expect too much from the French dudes. I found endless mirth at the attire of all of the military school kids who looked like Tom Cruse wannabes from A Few Good Men—but French.

OfCourse in my American fashion, I was plastered by 3:30 when I started to be too drunk, you know the getting mad for no reason kinda drunk. Luckily, that was the point that everyone became overwhelmed by the thundering base oozing from the rave and decided to leave—before I could embarrass myself.

So thankfully my birthday was a good one. Perhaps, even—Taylor—good as balls.