I don't know why everyone thinks that the French hate Americans. They seem to like me just fine. And they don't just like me, they REALLY like me. See the difference? Come to think of it, I always had a problem ending it with French men. They're such romantics that even the breakups were exciting. They'd never turn to pathetic sobbing jelly like all the American pussies I've had to dump. Somehow, the French manage to get even tougher and try to win me back. That takes guts and confidence. My kind of alpha.
You might be wondering why I'm writing about my French flings... Well it's because when I was invited to review a new club slash restaurant called WHO IS WHO, I was going to bring a French marketing director I'd met just a few days before.
But then Jake, as in Rudnitsky of the eXile, had to fuck it all up. He insisted on accompanying me. Makes me wonder... is the eXile trying to monitor my behavior? They're probably cursing right now for hiring me as their club reviewer, scared every time that I go out that I'd fuck something up for them. I'm sure you'd love to remove me, guys. But you can't. I'm too popular and you know it.
Dear fans, I apologize in advance. You're not gonna live vicariously through my usual drunken Moscow romp this time. I was packing a whole bag of reverse psychology arsenal. Jake killed my date, so I would kill his night. Get this... you ready? I remained sober the entire time just to piss him off.
Jake didn't know what was going on. He kept asking if something was wrong. I'd shake my head. "I'm not in the mood to drink, that's all," I replied each time.
The club slash restaurant was pretty nice. There's an outside sitting area, but the real action happens inside on the basement level. A different live band plays each night of the week until 6 AM.
When we got there at 9pm on a Friday, the place was already packed with people eating and dancing. That's impressive considering that had opened just a week earlier.
The crowd was older and evenly mixed between Russians and expats. None of the men were my type, way too old and way too generic. But everyone was behaving themselves, even when the band started playing the wedding song hits mixed in with some Russian stuff that I didn't have a clue about.
Jake kept blabbering the entire time to try to get me to talk. At some point he managed to actually say something useful. Apparently WHO IS WHO is very similar to the now expired News Pub. What does that mean? I have no clue, it closed before my time. But Jake meant it as a compliment. It was one of the more popular expat hangouts in its day. The Russian chicks were civilized, approachable and apparently spoke English.
WHO IS WHO seems perfect for those upper class American girl backpackers or study abroad types. The competition from the Russian girls isn't that fierce here. The usual Russian slut factor that I hate so much was barely noticeable.
Although we were in a club with the house band in full swing, we didn't get off out of our seats. We sat and gobbled up the food as our demonstrative multi-course meal was brought out. The sea bass plate (670 RUB) was extremely good, but I'd have to make my French yuppie boy take me out here to afford food like this.
Come to think of it, I'm going to hang up and call him right now. A Thursday night dinner there doesn't sound that bad. And don't worry, I'll be up to my usual no-good next time around. Au revoir kiddies!