Day 44: Go to Georges Bizet's House

Last night, I went along with my photographer friend May to shoot the fashionable guests attending the launch party of up and coming French brand April 77 at Le Carmen, the former home of Georges Bizet over in Pigalle. I have been going with her to these fashion parties lately to get out of the house, out of Le Marais and to exercise my fading social skills. 
I had a great time with May who matches my cynicism and shares my love for a good white wine. While I love the company of May, sometimes I can't help but wish I had stayed home whenever I go to these flaunty events. I have lived in Olympia, Washington, Silver Lake and Williamsburg and ten years later, the vapid hipster scene with impatient bartenders just bores me to tears. Same pretentiousness, different city. 
I'm going to hate myself for writing this but when I was in this bar watching girls who were probably breast feeding when Nirvana's 'Nevermind' came out, I couldn't help but yearn for a domestic life to go home to at the end of the night. Parties are fun to go to but I'm at a point in my life where they are even more fun to leave especially when you have someone waiting for you. 
In my early twenties, break-ups created a sense of excitement of who the next guy will be and the fleeting pain was cured with bar hopping with the girls and hang-over brunches laughing about who did what the night before. As I get older, the girlfriend pool is getting smaller and "Girls Night Out" is turning into "Husband is Away So I Can Pretend I Want to Go Out" and scarily so is the potential boyfriend pool as everyone is settling down. I hate the cliché that all the "good ones are taken", but is it true? Have I used up all of my shots at romance?
My evening was charmingly capped off with a guy reaching under my skirt while he passed me on the street. He seemed very pleased with himself and my reaction of hitting him with my purse. I've actually been wondering when this was going to happen ever since I arrived in Europe and I recap the story that my grandmother loves to relive of how a young gentleman got 'fresh' with her on the metro in Italy. At least someone tried to get fresh with me last night...