ApartmentMatch.com Part Deux

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Now that I've gone on my first "date" with my online match, I thought it was necessary to add a Hot-Shots-style "part Deux" to my earlier speculations.
The apartment itself isn't half bad...I just feel as cramped as I did when sharing a two bedroom-one bath with 7 girls...but now it's only me. I can't say that the apartment owner was deceptive; he made no pretense about the size, or the fact that the room is on the seventh floor. In fact, Mr Mystery Date warned me time and again about what a climb it would be to get up there. Through my own vanity, I thought that since I work out 4 times a week, and am in tip-top shape, of course I can handle seven floors! I was wrong...oh how very wrong. I imagined a typical American staircase, that goes straight up, has a landing where it turns, and does so seven times. Now I learned the first of many lessons about how the French style spits wine-tinted saliva all over American styles. THis staircase was wide enough for one - slim - person (I think this is why no one in France is fat, they'd never be able to get to their apartment), and was one continuous mobious strip. Walking up this staircase makes me feel like I'm watching that old-fashioned sci-fi effect, where they spiral white and black together to let you know that you're entering an alternate universe.
Now imagine that alternate-universe portal, but with a backpack and 40 pound suitcase. As my pride was covered in that winy spit, and a veritable pool of my own American sweat, I crumpled around the 4th floor, and thought there was no way I could go on. With each step I just reminded myself that this was the only time I would have to lug that suitcase up the stairs again. The only other time I'd felt so exhausted was when I had to transfre my temperpedic Queen sized mattress up to my room from the downstairs garage. I finally reached the door, it had a nice "Welcome Jackie" sign taped on. Of course, the path this first date was heading down, it was inevitable that the key didn't work. I let out a bit of a whimper, I hope the neighbours didn't hear, I think I had an American accent.
After twisting that key in every orifice in the door, somehow, it finally clicked. And now I'm here. It's kind of like taking out a really attractive person, only to find out that he has no brains. It's a huge chore to even carry on a conversation, but you've already committed to paying a rather pricey dinner, so you may as well stick it out.
On the plus side, I finally figured out how to use the crazy European television! The key is to hit all the buttons until it works.

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