PARIS DAY 3 MARK and I woke up, half cuddling and half naked (but totally not in a gay way, although...). we were hungry, and as MARK drifted back into slumber as he always does, i decided it was time to find coffee, breakfast and french aggression. i found two. i walked into the first authentic coffee shop i saw, expecting either to get a quick shot of espresso or a cup of joe to go. i got neither. instead, with their instant disdain for my lack of knowledge of the french language, they sat me down and had me wait several minutes for a latte, which obviously wasn't up to the proper french standards. i sat there and gulped it down, hating my morning and staring at the old ladies in slight anger as they stared back in disgust, almost like a wild west showdown. i left the coffee shop with the hope of better things to come. i decided to take a detour and try to call the amazing lady i'd met in BERGEN, NORWAY, JEANETTE. my phone card wouldn't work and no one near sold them. strike two for the morning. next on the list? bagette. it was a beautiful french morning, and in my opinion, that calls for a delicious french breakfast. a bagette and cheese were in order. in my search, i came upon, what looked like an amazing cheese shop. it was so beautiful and classic looking and gave off that distinct fragrance that only cheese can. it felt like heaven. i waited in line behind a very polite, and who seemed to be charming, french couple. as they received their cheese and left the building, i waiting in anticipation as it was gonna be my turn to order the sweet, sweet cheese. i walked up the the lady. "bonjour," i said, "i'm sorry, but i don't speak french....." she replied, "parle vous frances?" again, i said, "i'm sorry, no." what happened next is no exaggeration. she immediately grabbed a trash can and threw it between us, ran to the back room and began screaming, what i assume, can only be translated as, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE YOU FUCKING AMERICAN SCUM!!!," over and over again! it was so sudden and intense! alas, i returned to the apt empty handed. we decided maybe it was time to take fate into our hands. LAURENT's apt was right across the street from the famous cemetery in PARIS, whatever it's called. so, MARK got dressed and we decided to go visit JIM MORRISON. i stopped to get some ice cream on the way (still hungry, no cheese, remember) from, for once, a very nice, young french lady. we entered the graveyard and walked straight into a sea of tourists, yet i was amazed at how horrifically enticing the cemetery was. i found myself wishing i'd worn more black, but i was happy we were there in the day. as we walked through, we came upon graves that looked as though someone had busted up through them. as in vampires and/or zombies. c-r-e-e-p-y! we did finally find JIM MORRISON's grave. hippies from around the world were gathered and giving praise to one of their heros. i was pissed that they'd taken the headstone with the graffitti on it out. we decided to leave, but on our way out we befriended two traveling norwegian ladies who convinced us to have lunch with them. they were crude and savvy at the same time. they had been on the road, traveling around europe for months and were almost broke. they were full of stories of suspense and intrigue, and as MARK and I sat there and listened to them retell their adventures, i began to become sad that our own was quickly coming to an end. i missed the days of no responsibility and letting everything, including your shit, hang out in the wind. MARK, I said, thats the trip WE should be on! he kind of just laughed and rubbed my head. I took that as a no. after a while their fart jokes did begin to wear thin, so we made our exit. We hopped on the subway again, but this time with a singular mission: find the Italian newspaper that MARK had heard through the grapevine had written about him. Three stops and a lot of walking later, we were finally getting closer. We got brave and began asking people. Most refused to help, but eventually we happened upon a nice, old lady, who not only embraced English, but felt obliged to help. She acted as our translator and interrogated passer-bys until she located the place we needed to go to attain our goal. Then, she even walked us there. From us to you, thank you nice, old lady. It was getting dark and LAURENT had big plans for us, so we headed back to his apt. never one to miss an opportunity, LAURENT and the rest of the WOMBAT crew thought it would be a good idea, seeing as how MARK was in town and the subject of their latest poster, to go around to all the special events happening in PARIS that evening and pass out posters with MARKs face on it while hes there taking photos. Our first stop was the MAGIC NUMBERS show. Even in FRANCE we were on the guest list (I love life). The show was totally packed, so I hung out in the hallway and listened, drinking beer, most of the show. I bided my time passing out IHEARTCOMIX buttons to cute, French girls (which were a hit, by the way, most everyone wanted the whole set!). I was drawn into the show room once the MAGIC NUMBERS broke into their cover of BEYONCES CRAZY IN LOVE. It was fucking brilliant. I sang and pumped my fist, rushing into the crowd, finding my spot and dancing my ass off, much to the chagrin of everybody else. After the show was over, the real show began. WOMBAT began passing out all their packs containing COBRASNAKE posters and MARK began taking photos. It was a little awkward, but it seemed like MARK made a few new friends. I stood outside and watched in amusement as the spectacle went down. It was too funny. Check the photos here: http://www.thecobrasnake.com/partyphotos/wombatparis/index.html the rest of the evening was spent trying to find the next party, which never happened. PARIS was worn out from FASHION WEEK, which wed just missed, and most places just werent happening. We ended up settling on a baked potato and a stiff drink at a local pub, then heading back to LAURENTs place for some late night socializing and weed smoking. As the night lingered on and we each went to bed one by one, I found myself wondering when id be back in PARIS. Out of all the places we went, I didnt feel like we even scratched the surface and I wanted more. Next time, there has to be a next time. One day left in our trip. Stay tuned for the grand finale..