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The Pont des Arts How could she say no to a proposal on one of the most enchanting bridges in Paris? The Pont des Arts is a wooden pedestrian bridge which leads to the Louvre and has the most amazing views of Paris (with the Eiffel Tower in the distance) and the Ile de la Cité. A little wine, a little baguette et fromage, the sun setting on the Seine…and she’s yours for the asking! And while you’re there, don’t forget to leave a Love Lock as a memento of your Parisian adventure.

The Canal St Martin This charming, tree-lined waterway in the 10th Arrondissement is still pretty much overlooked by tourists, especially in off-peak months. Built by Napoleon III in 1825 to transport materials from quarries in the north to the Seine, the waterway’s charming iron footbridges and locks are still standing, and set a romantic tone for a different type of wedding proposal. After checking out the “bohemian chic” shops and waterfront cafés along the Quais de Valmy and de Jenmapes, stroll on over to the Parc de la Villette and board a canal cruise- a tranquil 2 hour ride down the canal and out onto the Seine, where you’ll have plenty of opportunities to pop the question.

>click here for the other three spots

A, L and N, though, have been going to clubs in Paris since they were about 16. They come home at four, five or six in the morning reeking of cigarettes, tired and happy. N hangs out with an international crowd, often no two people of the same nationality in the group, and always seems to see Lindsay Lohan or people of that ilk at the next table. A and L have been several times to a girls-only club night where the pretty girls (ugly girls are refused entry) are offered free dinners, free drinks, a male-stripper show, and free makeup lessons. (Interesting that girls’ reaction to male strippers seems universally to be laughter.) Shortly before midnight, the club opens the doors to the guys… who have to pay at least 30 euros to get in. According to A, they skew quite a bit older than the girls, and look very rich.

“And … there are all these drunk, beautiful girls!” said A. She likes to go because it’s a free, amusing evening once in a while. She always comes home shortly after the guys arrive. (“They’re thirty years old!”)

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Not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve seen them regularly making out on the bed, but that’s not really the worst of it. I have seen my fair share of impetuous preliminaries on the streets of Paris. Who hasn’t? It’s practically a right of passage to see some tongue-baths in this town. Eventually, they get to more advanced techniques and draw the blinds. (Thank the lord.)

The worst part isn’t the bedroom… it’s their bathroom. (You see where I’m going with this.) In France the toilet is typically separate from the tub area, and I cannot express how truly grateful I am for this custom. But the problem remains: I have a view of their tub area.

Shockingly, this pair of unprudists have a curtain. What they don’t have, is a clue how to use it. It’s strategically placed 1/2-way folded down. It’s Pubes-R-Us over there.

Anon-nudists next door shower nightly, for which I’m very glad. Less stink on the metro is good for all. Unfortunately they spend an inordinate amount of time drying themselves in front of the window, where I have a front-row seat to the butt-crack show of a lifetime.

I could sell tickets to this, not kidding. The red-light district ain’t got nothing on my neighbors. But that’s the thing. You can’t not look.

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Through October 27 at 19 rue du Bac, 75007

The eldest is an aspiring actress, a pretty girl who speaks perfect English, has excellent credentials and had both talent and the support of her family, so I was surprised to find out the other day that she is leaving France to study something completely different abroad.

“What happened?” I said. “Your mother said things were going so well!”

“It was so discouraging,” she said. “Things were going well. Everyone is impressed with [her credentials] and I got lots of leads. But I discovered that the myth of the casting couch is not a myth. The directors who said they would put me in their movies or plays wanted sex first.

“Ninety percent of all the actresses you see in the movies got their first roles this way. Everyone knows it.”
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He got up very close to me, reached across my chest and jokingly made a play for my fries. All I remember feeling was this blind, hot rage, and the following things occurred:

1.  I grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the table.

2.  With his pansy little wrist still firmly pinned to the table, I got up very close to his face and just growled, “DEGAGE.”

3.  When his friend rushed to his defense and demanded to know what I was doing to him, I finally let go of his wrist and just responded, “He should’ve ordered his own fries.”

I’m not sure what Mr. Potato Thief and his friend got up to afterward.  All I know is that the sympathetic kebab worker gave me extra fries to make up for being harassed by a potato thief.  And that made everything right with the world.

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