Day 200: Be A Winner.

Isn't winning such a great feeling? I particularly like winning a prize in a raffle drawing. Something about being chosen and rewarded at random as being more special than the people currently surrounding you who by cruel default are losers can secretly brighten anyone's day. I won a raffle contest once and fought the urge to feign that I thought someone else deserved it and to draw another name. When it comes to raffles, it's fair and square where winner takes all, or at least all that's being offered. I've always loved the feeling of hoping to win something but after this weekend's experience, I will never enter my name in drawing again. These life lessons are really kicking in before the new year leaving no stone left unturned.
So the first time I won a raffle was at an Alliance Française Franco-Soiree where the prize was an imported French cheese platter. While I was delighted with my three week's supply of cheese from select regions of France, the commuters on the the J/M/Z subway failed to share my joy. I was dumb, I should have taken the L Train where the hipsters would have appreciated my Euro-initiative and probably would have pretended to know which region each cheese came from after proclaiming that they spoke French "un petit peu". The passengers on the J/M/Z, a more authentic BK ride weren't impressed with my non-pasteurized authentic gems from France and weren't afraid to vocalize their disgust. Something about the mix of the pungent smell of the Brie de Meaux, the equally aromatic Camembert and the force not to be reckoned with, Vieux Boulogne warranted a "Yo, that bitch stinks!" comment from a young boy who went by the name, Little Papi. How did I know that was his "name"? Little Papi spoke in third person. Seriously. I raised the volume on my headphones to block out the comments of Little Papi whose second concern after his disgust for my cheese platter was wanting to locate a bag of chips to sustain himself. If he was nicer I would have offered him sustenance that I was clearly in abundance of. My roommate Claire also didn't appreciate the platter that stunk up our entire apartment for the proceeding weeks. It was hard being a Francophile in the hard, cold neighborhood of Southside Williamsburg. There was no love. 
This weekend, Séb and I went down to Fountainbleau for a 30th birthday celebration of Davide, a friend he went to high school with. This would be my first time meeting Davide because while him and Séb have been good friends since childhood they seldom see each other in their adult lives. We arrived at the catering hall and Davide attentively introduced us to each guest during cocktail hour. It was overwhelming. Imagine it, 50 French people times 2 kisses each total to 100 kisses, add 12 more kisses for the group of Swiss extended family who gave three kisses minus 4 for the Germans who don't kiss at all and add 16 more for the expressive Italians who gave 4 each. I had to listen in on their accents to forecast where my mouth was going to go after the initial introduction. After the kiss fest, I was dizzy and in need of a drink. What else is new?
The theme of the party was black and white where there were white candles set on black table cloths, white drapes hanging from the rafters decorated by black balloons and the guests were in one color of the other. This was a little detail Séb failed to remind me of and not only was I not wearing black or white, I was wearing a bright Marc by Marc Jacobs plaid dress. A dress that is cute for the day or a ride through the pumpkin patch in Upstate New York but ridiculous for a themed black and white gala in France. It was actually the first time I was pissed at him because I stuck out like a sore thumb. Leave it to a guy to neglect dress code details.
After cocktail hour, we were invited to find our seats for dinner. I was thankful to finally sit down because my bright purple wool dress in a sea of sleek black and white made me feel like what I can imagine reality stars feel like when in the company of accomplished and celebrated A-list actors; ridiculous and out of place. Not even the wine got me out of this one. Davide's uncle who doubled as the DJ and referred to himself as DJ Uncle Bou Bou came around with a bag to collect the place-card settings for a raffle drawing that would take place later in the evening to win cash and/or prizes. Confident that my luck had worn out with the cheese platter victory of 2008 and the number of guests present, the probability of having my name drawn where I'd attract more attention would be close to inconceivable. I was happy to sit this contest out.
After dinner and making "party-friends" with the kind couple from Lyon who sat next to us, it was time for the contest. He pulled a card out and my name was called. My name?! Come on. There was a table of fun prizes like bottles of champagne, wine, mini Christmas trees and ornaments. I accepted my fate and smiled, mouthed 'merci' to Uncle Bou Bou and walked over to the prize table to collect my winnings. 
Unfortunately for this round, the prize was not offered at the winner's table. The prize was to give a speech to Davide; the birthday boy. Are you fucking kidding me? I had to give a speech. In a room full of close to 70 people. 70 people that I didn't know. In French. I saw the gates of hell open before my eyes. I hate giving speeches. I took a public speaking class in high school to try to improve but walked away with a lazy C- and never thought about it again.
I looked at Séb who told me that I didn't have to do it but when the room started chanting my name and tapping their wine glasses with their knives, I felt that I had no choice but deliver what the people wanted. It was decided, I was going to give a speech on behalf of someone whom I've known for an hour and 45 minutes and it painfully went something like this: "Thank you for to have me invited at your beautiful party. The food is good. I hope you will all have the best night of your life. Davide seems kind. Your town is special. Happy Holidays. Thank you. Thank you very much." I sounded like an idiot. The speech would have gone like this even in English. I can't blame this one on French being my second language, it was just ten times worse with my fucking horrible accent and shaky voice.
"Mon chou!!!" Séb said with his arms out as I went back to the table feeling like as ass. As it turns out that the first drawing was supposed to be for Davide's father who was dressed in a tuxedo and had prepared a speech for his son but DJ Uncle Bou Bou had a few too many glasses of Sancerre during dinner and forgot that he was supposed to grab the card hidden in the interior pocket of the pouch and of course he pulled my name at random out of the bag.
Because his family felt bad about what had happened, they sent us home with two bottles of champagne with their sincere apologies for DJ Uncle Bou Bou's drunken oversight. Sincere apologies? Damn, my speech really was that horrific.
I learned two things this weekend: 1. Sometimes winning sucks. and 2. Purple plaid doesn't translate after 5 pm.