I’m an annoying Francophile. Annoying in the sense that I adore all things French yet only know 5 words and choose to chant these 5 words whenever I am inebriated. So over the past year you may have heard a petite Asian girl shouting “Les Poisson! Les Poisson! Saucion! Saucicon!” at a bar, on the street, in a public restroom…

And because I am a Francophile I also have a fondness for Gallic men. I love that they cross their legs when they smoke. The jeans that are always a tad too tight and tapered. The Serge Gainsbourgesque perversity.The lack of deodorant.

So when my roommate asked me if I wanted to go to this surprise party for two French guys I pounced on it like a Kodiak bear on a salmon.

We started the evening at Cafecito, a cozy Cuban restaurant on Ave C, where I made friends with a bartender from Miami. He was very surprised when I told him I was from Miami. Yes, they do have Asians in Miami. We’re everywhere.

After inhaling empanadas, croquetas, and other deep fried treasures we strolled to the party. As soon as we entered I saw a group of guys near the drink table. I immediately knew they were Euro because European men love wearing collared shirts and tight jeans. And that’s when I zeroed in on one particular Frenchie. It was hard not to notice him. He was wearing a salmon colored shirt. Kodiak bear. Salmon.

I walked over to the drinks table and pretended to mull over my selection. After taking an hour to pour my drink and coyly look over to my Frenchman, I was about to say something when his friend who looked like Jim Carey came up to talk to me. Then I saw Frenchie headed to the fire escape with a pack of cigarettes. Ah, cigarettes! By the time I ended the convo with Jim Carey and went to the fire escape the Frenchie was gone. Sacre bleu! I think I smoked a carton of cigarettes by the end of the evening.

We ended up talking on the fire escape for a bit and then he left to talk to some tall, skinny French girl with legs up to her chin. I was about to throw in the towel when my friend Nicole came up to me and told me that the Frenchie had expressed interest. Repetez, s’il vous plait!

So then I decided to do what I always do when I try to get a man’s attention. Dance. Except when I dance I have a tendency to think I’m back in Miami and I end up riding the floor like a buck. Frenchie was putting his coat on. High on my champagne buzz, I walked up to him and said, “Where are you going? Give me your phone number.”

After he left my other French friend Dev told me that I should be aloof, play it cool and not call him right away. “So can I call him now?” Meanwhile he hadn’t even left the building. I don’t think I could register Dev’s sage advice because he was wearing a fluorescent green sweater. “I can’t even look at you”, I said.

Frenchie calls and tells me he’s at Plan B. I drag my roommate there and the rest of the evening is one big Champagne blur. At one point he left the bar to smoke a cigarette and my roomie and I went to grab a slice of pizza. “Should I call him again?” “No! Do you really wanna go home with him right now?” “No.” “So don’t call him!”

So I called him. But I told him I was going home thank you very much.

I woke up this morning to 4 missed calls from the Frenchie and a text written in French. I’m not really sure if I will call back. The guy barely speaks English and the only French word I know is “sausage”.

But the truth is, the thought of dating someone new is just terrifying right now. Sure it would just be a rebound but I’ve never really dated for the sake of dating. I can’t date someone unless I really like them. Which is usually to my disadvantage because I don’t like very many people.

So it’s back to celibate Jinius for now.