That's called herpes.

Toward the end of Cannes I was at a bar with a bunch of friends. This bar happened to be a karaoke bar with rainbows and unicorns on the sign (I think. I just remember a lot of strobe lights that I kept claiming were giving me seizures. It was also really loud and I repeatedly yelled at my friend, let's call her Sadie, that it was too loud. Yes, I'm still only 22.)


So before I go any further there's something I need to tell you about the trip. My coworker, Delilah, and I came up with code words. "Griffith" meant a guy was a real hottie. Sadie added on to this - "Malfoy" meant run away fast because he's creepy.


Alrighty, now that the logistics are out of the way, "back to the karaoke bar," as they say! (Do they say that? Now they do!). One of the guys we met was a real Griffith. I mean woohoo Griffith. And then he opened his mouth and the shit started pouring out. That man must have really needed sex. Maybe he was just really effin' stupid. It doesn't really matter what prompted him to say any of this but let it be known that if you want anyone to think highly of you, don't talk. 


It's natural to ask someone what they're doing at the festival. A lot of people show up just to crash parties and have absolutely no business being there so it's really refreshing to meet someone who is actually working. "I'm an actor in a movie about 9/11, but from the human's perspective."  Sorry, what? Were there other accounts from animal perspectives? 


Sadie and I decide to listen to his conversation with a girl and fully expected it to be hilarious. Were we disappointed? You be the judge of that. "You're not hot, you're cute. I'd make you a trophy and put you on my mantle." OK, he's right - girls don't want to be called hot, but we don't want to be told we aren't hot, either. And then he said this: "We're both middle of the road [in terms of attractiveness], we can go up or down." I'm sorry, what?! Apparently there has to be a certain "distance of hotness" between a couple and cannot exceed...something. I never knew about this rule before so I'm still slightly confused. Will someone explain this?


As the night progressed this already oh-so-classy gentleman proceed to vomit in the street and then whimper about how embarrassed he was about being 32 years old and vomiting from drinking. Yes, THIRTY TWO. 


So Sadie and I peaced out, leaving the drunk creeper to continue his plea for sex. On the walk home, Sadie said the greatest thing to ever be said. "I could never sleep with a stranger. I can flirt, I can do the drunk makeout, I'll even wake up with a cold sore." To which I responded, "Um, that's called herpes." We all have herpes. Think about that one, ya'll.