Ok, so it started out with Chirag (who we've determined needs to be called Carlos for the remainder of this trip) getting in touch with his friend, Marielle (not actually sure if that's her real name or her Spanish-fied name, but as far as I'm concerned it's her real name, lol). She was throwing a little house party and invited us. Fair enough, right? More than fair. So much more than fair. Chirag and I were the only guys there, and the total population was something near or over 10. Yes. Yes it was.
So then we find out about this party hosted by Bacardi. That's right, hosted by Bacardi. Or at least funded by it. Someone won a contest wherein the prize was liquid funds from Bacardi to throw a Bacardi party. Of course, by "liquid funds" I mean "alcohol." So much alcohol. I had a couple dackeries, myself, as well as some personally mixes of loveliness.
Anyway, I suppose the real trouble started there. Trouble being that I'm not much of a dancer. My fingers dance. On keyboards, often of the computational variety. The rest of my body, not so much... but we pretended I had any clue at all what I was doing. It did take a fair bit of time and rising of my B.A.C. for me to think it was ok to pretend I could pretend to dance, but it slowly progressed to horrors the sober world must never know of as the night went on. (Really, I'm supremely terrible at dancing. It's like watching a fish out of water suffocate).
Ok but really I had a pretty awesome time. Chirag wingman'd me in chatting up a really cute French girl, which was going pretty successfully until we lost her at the club, lol.
The club, yes the club. You see, in Buenos Aires, you start out by pre-pregaming with your friends around 11 or 12. Then you all go pregaming at another party or a bar for a couple of hours. Around 3 or so you all decide the night has outgrown its infancy and it's time for a dance clubs. Clubbing usually ends around 5 if you're feeling too tired, but more normally around 6 or 7. Though no one was particularly fatigued, we left at 5 for some reason.
But anyway, that French girl and I were talking a fair bit at the Bacardi party through to the night club. I got in first, but couldn't find her for the life of me after that. The most logical thing to suppose is that she didn't actually go in for some reason. The more fun thing to suppose is that magical unicorns from France swooped down into Buenos Aires and whisked her away back to the land of wine and baguettes and escargo.
All the same, I had a lot of fun in the club. Oh, it was about 6.25 USD to get in. One drink included. Yup, you read that correctly. The lot of us danced our dance-parts off and it was wonderful. Again, I'm no dancer, but it definitely was fun acting like I was. I figure/hope we were all far gone enough that such pretension was acceptable.
On a slightly related note, I seem to have re-acquired my liver, twice over. Guess my tolerance is dependent on my distance from America.
So yeah, that was my welcome night into Buenos Aires. I love Buenos Aires. I love it oh so much.
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