Blog #83

Hey, Merry Chritmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyus Kwanzaa and so forth and so on my friends. In honor of the season here is a picture of me dressed as Jesus…with Elvis and a pimp, it’s very Christmasy. (note; this is at Elvis’ wedding ceremony…Las Vegas is a weird place)

Sexy Jesus and friends.

Shout out to Ben Kaplan from the National Post for including me in a pretty cool list of running folk; Check it!
I’m pretty proud of being mentioned here. Ben’s a good dude, he came for a few runs with us back in the Guelph days and he writes sweet articles about running.

I was at the store the other day and the lady at the counter said I looked like Adam Levine. I liked that, Adam Levine is a handsome dude, that cashier must have had bad eyesight though (Above picture confirms that I look very little like Adam Levine!). I only mention this little event because it is a good seagway into my story about the time I saw Maroon 5 in Montpelier France…with a french whore.

So ya wanna hear about the time I saw Maroon 5…with a French whore? Yeah you do. I think I have posted this story before. But I’m gonna post it again, because it was one of the strangest nights of my life.

This occurred in the summer of 2008. Back in my steeplechasing days. I went to France to try to run a fast race as to qualify for the Olympics. Also worth noting that this was my first time out of North America and I was solo on this mission.

I flew into Paris and the first thing I did was lose my passport somewhere in the Charles De Gulle airport, that was lame. I looked all over that damn place for my passport, but then my train came so had to go. I figured I’d do something about the lost passport later. This was probably one of the few times my naivety was a good thing. I figured a lost passport in a foreign land was no big deal so I didn’t stress about it. I just jumped on a train and headed down to Southern France to the city of Montpelier.

I arrived in Montpelier around 9 at night and ventured off to find a place to sleep. For future reference, when traveling to a strange city in which you don’t know anything about, nor do you speak the native language having accommodations and such sorted out before hand may come in handy! I arrived in Montpelier and kinda just wondered the streets for a little while. I tried to find a place to stay, but every time I went into a hotel they were all full. It was getting late and I was starting to get a little worried. I was also getting further and further away from the city center and things were starting to get kinda sketchy. Finally I went into one last place and asked for a room, thay had one! Sweet! And it was only like 25Euro a night! Rad!

I have stayed at many a hotel in my day…In North America. Man, Hotels in Europe are quite a bit different to say the least! Especially grimy, sketchy hotels in the Ghettos of Montpelier France. My room consisted of a bed, a lamp and a chair, and not a nice chair either, a poorly padded plastic chair. There was also a small window, I had a sweet view of a brick wall. Anyways, beggars can’t be choosers and I was exhausted so I went to bed.

I was woken up in the middle of the night by some strange noises, like someone was banging on the wall. This banging was accompanied by moaning and french dirty talk (maybe, I’m not sure). After my initial confusion subsided I was able to conclude that there were some folks in the next room just going to town. It was awkward. Luckily though I had ear plugs so I was able to go back to bed.

I was awoken the next morning to pretty much the same thing, French folk banging away in the next room, but there was also a baby crying…strange. I walked out into the hall to use the bathroom and sink and such. The whole floor shared this one bathroom, and when I came out there was a big ole’ sweaty dude waiting to use the facilities and a lady breast feeding an infant in the hall way, it was a weird sight. I hustled back into my room quickly got changed and went for a run.

I went for a lovely little run through the city, Montpelier is a beautiful place. Lots of old architecture, cool little cafe’s and stuff. I was eager to get back to my room to change up and do some exploring and touristy stuff. I got back to my room and the door was wide open…hmm…I went in and saw that my shit was all over the place. Son of a bitch, I was gone for 45min and during the time I was robbed! Luckily though before I went for my run I had anticipated something like this may happen, so I had hidden my wallet. My Camera however was not secured and that sucker was stolen (and when I say “my” camera, I mean Taylor Milne’s camera, sorry buddy!) Anyways, I was robbed, not cool man!

I shook off that little episode and had a nice little day in Montpelier  really an awesome place. When I got back to the hotel I was going into my room and I saw another dude leaving my neighbors room, another gross sweaty dude. By this time I had deduced the fact that my next door neighbor was in fact a whore. Like I said before, I really wished I had sorted out proper accommodations before arriving in Montpelier! May have saved me from spending three nights in a whore house.

The next couple days was kinda a blur, jet lag was messing with my rhythm and when I did sleep I would be woken at various hours by this lady getting banged or her crying baby.

One afternoon I was sitting in my room contemplating how my life had come to this point when there was a knock at the door. I was hesitant to answer but eventually I opened the door. It was the whore! I was confused, there was an pause, I smiled and said “Hi”, I noticed that she had a piece of paper in her hand, she handed it too me. It was poster for a concert in the public square…Maroon friggen 5! She said something I didn’t understand, I replied with something she didn’t understand. This was awkward as hell! I began to panic…I pointed to the poster and just said “Oui!” She smiled, nodded and said “Ok” and held up seven fingers. I nodded and said “Ok” she smiled and said “Ok” again and then left.

I shut the door, locked it and then sat on my bed. I tried to break down what the hell had just happened. It didn’t take long to realize that I had just agreed to go to the Maroon 5 concert with the whore…awesome.

7pm rolled around and there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there was the whore, she was looking put together, well as put together as whores get I guess. Baby was there too, I was happy baby was there, baby represents innocence in this story for all you English majors out there.

We strolled down to the public square, just a nice little family. Rob, Whore and Baby out for a nice evening in Montpellier.  I generally suck at small talk on a good day, so imagine how brutal it is with someone who I can’t really communicate with and also have very little in common with. We settled on hand gestures and uncomfortable silence as ways to communicate, god damn people it was so friggen awkward!  I was also worried that she was on the clock and at some point her pimp was gonna come looking for payment.

We got to the square and thankfully there were some random french band playing really loudly so we couldn’t really “talk” anymore. The night progressed until finally Maroon 5 hit the stage. I’m not a huge Maroon 5 fan, but they kinda rocked. Maybe I was just so relieved that someone was speaking English. But whatever the case was, Maroon 5 wasn’t bad!

One of the strangest nights of my life,

As Maroon 5 was starting to wrap up their set I was getting worried as to what was gonna happen after this concert was over. Was whore expecting anything to happen here? I really, really, really did not want to have sex with a french whore.

The show ends, and we begin the walk back to the hotel. Whore had a good time. She was happy. It was nice that whore had a good night. We get back to the hotel…here’s the moment of truth…we get to the front door…I begin to panic…we go up the stairs…my room is first…I say “Merci, au revoir”…we lock eyes, she smiles and says “Thank you” and we part ways.

The next day I went to the city where the race was and I never saw Whore again. Whore is my best french friend, I miss her, I wonder what happened to her and baby?

I ended up having a pretty ho-hum race after all was said and done. Luckily though I retrieved my passport from the Airport lost and found, and made it home safely. That trip to France was absurd. I should go back to France, that place is nutty!

Alright folks so that is the story of Maroon 5 and French Whores.

Oh yeah, I’m also getting fit again. 2013 is gonna be sweet! I’m gonna run fast.

Love ya, be safe!




Dec 2012


COMMENTS 10 Comments

10 Responses to “Blog #83”

  1. Mjm says:

    Great story, althoughnthe ad for the children’s singer raffi at the bottom is a bit inappropriate!

  2. Alex says:

    Great story Rob, too funny! Too bad though sounds like you may have passed up on future Mrs. Watson. Glad your getting fit and looking forward to big things in 2013. God bless.

  3. Olivier D says:

    You sure the French whore wasn’t Suzy Favor Hamilton? Because that would’ve been all right.

    Onward to Montpelier!

  4. PR says:

    I love that as I read this there’s an ad for Single Christians dot com floating to the left. Another great blog Mr.!

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