Another night lost to La Cave de L'Os a Moelle

Partial Transcript of a Dimly Remembered Phone Conversation With My Boyfriend After Spending the Night Drinking at La Cave de L’Os a Moelle With Nina, Nastia and Gerard (With Apologies to McSweeney's)

“Why is the sheeling spinning? Help. Make it stop.”
“I can’t. Drink water.”
“Why do Americans in restaurants here always want to loudly discuss all the things they find inferior about France? And why do they always want to talk to me?”
“I don’t know, but I think you should drink some water.”
“At one point somebody tried to refill my glass and just poured wine directly onto my hand.”
“Maybe take some Advil too.”
“I’m going to be miserable tomorrow aren’t I? I know what will happen. I’ll wake up ravenously hungry and then later on I’ll feel totally queasy. I think I remember eating blood meatloaf tonight. And carrots. Lots of carrots.”
“Mm. Drink water.”
“I tried to tell Nastia how Andre Lartigue, the accordionist at the Franklin D. Roosevelt metro station, is madly in love with her and stares at her whenever we walk past him, but I don’t think she was impressed.”
“Maybe you should go to sleep now.”
“Ca va pas. Caaaaa. Vaaaaaa. Paaaaas.”

Postscript: Nastia and I did not barf. But Nina and Gerard did.