So, did you survive the long weekend? Yeah, me too. Thanks. On Sunday, I went on a boozy tour through Moscow’s clubs with Franz from Bayreuth.
We had fun, spent way too much money, and eventually stumbled into bed around 10 in the morning. Well, I went to bed. Alone, by the way, because once again I was way too drunk. Franz stood in front of his Moscow apartment, but the electronic door opener was broken. Poor guy had to wait outside until 9 a.m. for someone to come out so he could get in.
Typical us Germans. Anyone else would’ve rung a random doorbell, but we don’t dare. We’re too proper. And yeah, it’s kind of awkward when all you can do at 8 a.m. is slur into the intercom. Especially in Russia’s capital. In German. Just eight days before Victory Day – the day the Russians proudly celebrate defeating the Nazis.
“Helloooo, this is Franz. Hic. Could you pleeease open the doooor? Hic!”
I swear, it could’ve been a scene from a comic. Odds of getting your ass kicked: 50/50. I probably would’ve waited too instead of playing the doorbell bandit. Franz wasn’t even that drunk. But I would’ve been.
Franz waiting to get in.
Anyway, it’s official now: Paris Hilton broke up with Stavros. Ever since that sex tape, I’ve been a secret fan of Paris. She’s so typically American – naïve, but still a little naughty. I like that in women.
Maybe it’s just the high heels she wears in that video, while her boyfriend’s going at it. That fantasy’s been stuck in my head since I was a teenager. And it rarely comes true. Yeah, I know, it’s silly and unhygienic – shoes in bed. How do I even come up with this stuff?
High heels, thigh-high stockings, and lacy lingerie have been floating around in my head ever since I first held a Playboy at age 14. Most of the women I’ve been with – whether one-night stands or long-term relationships – think it’s trashy, uncomfortable, or find some other excuse for choosing “fashionably comfortable” underwear instead of lingerie.
Then there are the ones who do wear nice underwear, but they get undressed so fast I barely even see it. Hey, naked is fine too – but why not play a little, live out some fantasies?
The younger the woman, the more likely she’ll be wearing sporty, comfy undies. And no, this isn’t a fetish. I’m totally fine without it. But it’s just a thought that keeps bouncing around in my head.
Sunrise in Moscow. Time to go home.
I’m not the only one. My friends feel the same way. What’s left is the fantasy. The hope of eventually hitting the jackpot – or, more realistically, reaching for a magazine or a porn site to see what we’d love to have at home.
Too often, there’s that (slight) disappointment when you undress your new girlfriend for the first time. And she’s wearing Calvin Klein or sporty Victoria’s Secret instead of that little black number.
No wonder porn is a billion-dollar industry. At some point during adolescence, you get your hands on one of those magazines – and bam, you’re branded for life. From that point on, it’s practically a mild addiction. Like cigarettes or alcohol, just less harmful.
Anyway, I’ve drifted off-topic. I actually wanted to write about Paris Hilton. No, I (sadly) don’t know her, but I’ve had my own experiences with young trust fund millionaires.
