Crazy crazy crazy

I have two new roommates and they share several things in common: They are both hail from Canada and are female. The both also enjoy drinking a lot and smoke like chimneys. The big difference between them though is that one is care-free and 21, and the other worries about everything and is 53.

Last night the older one, Bev, and I went to some restaurant where we put down a bottle of Chilean wine, 2003, and two appetizers -- stuffed mushrooms and potato skins. Oh so good; not like anything else I’ve ever tasted. The stuffed ‘shrooms came with something called “salsa mole.” I asked what it was, but because of what’s likely a language barrier, the only response I got was, “salsa.” Whatever it is, it’s the best “salsa” I’ve had it my entire life. I could drink a bottle of it. As the night went on, and this somewhat elderly woman put down more wine, she offloaded all of her social problems onto me. Apparently I’m a good listener. I’ll save you the details of all the wrong turns she’s taken throughout the past 4 decades or so of her life. We paid the bill and continued down the street (with a certain swagger to our step). There was some good music and person-generated noise bellowing from a down the way, so stepping inside to see what all the commotion was about seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I had 2 shots of tequila and a Tecate (it’s as ubiquitous as Budweiser here). Behind me I saw a table of 4 girls, alone, who were giving me the once over. What the hell, I thought, so I staggered over and introduced myself. We carried on a clumsy conversation in Spanish until – finally – they confessed that they knew a little English. The night went on until one of the girls asked if I had a phone number. Unfortunately I do not, so she asked for an email address. That, I do have. So I wrote it down and handed it to her. One of the girls from across the table snatched that up from her and copied down my email address for her self, then it got passed around until they all eventually had my email address. Fine by me. Later, the girl who initially asked for my info, Irma, had to leave. Upon doing so, she wrote down her physical address, home phone, and cell phone numbers for me. I didn’t ask for them. A hug and a kiss, then she was gone (If you don’t know, the whole hug n kiss thing is standard operating procedure in these parts among opposite sexes and women – I’m a fan of it, regardless). She asked that I call her the next day to go dancing. I don’t dance, but hey, fuck it. So I called her and she asked that I call again at 8pm for her to tell me which club they’ll be at and I’d meet up with her. So I did and there was no answer. Que serra serra (whatever will be, will be). Instead I left her a text message inviting her to attend our low-scale house party the next day.

But hey, I don’t need some chick to keep me from going out anyway and having a good time, so I did. The new 21 year old whipper-snapper and I went to what may be considered downtown SLP. In Mexico there are mixed drinks that can be purchased in 12oz cans that look like any other soda can. We got a few and went out into the bustling plaza and put ‘em down. Soon we heard a live band playing covers of American classic rock songs. We went to the source, got a table, had a listen and put a few more back. Before I continue, don’t get the wrong idea, this girl is such an American princess (though, yeah, she’s Canadian – it still stands) that I can hardly tolerate her. Once we were done there, we were walking down the street and heard good regeton and laughter, etc. from a place and went in. The place was shoulder to shoulder. There too, was a live band, but better. This get-up had horns, a few vocalists and was of overall higher quality. So we’re sitting back when this drop-dead gorgeous Latina asked me to dance. So, with some hesitation, I did. This girl can move her hips better than Chakira could ever hope. This girl is so sexy, I’m not even going to waist my time trying to explain it in this post I’m wring at 6am (I just got back – Mexican’s party late). The night goes on, and she volunteers her phone number to me; this, much in the same way as the girl from the previous night in that it was never elicited; I never asked for her info. She, also like the last, insisted that I call her the next day. I’m beginning to realize that certain privilege come with being a white American. These girls are falling into my lap without almost any special effort on my behalf.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. It’s observed a bit differently here. People exchange gifts much in the same fashion as they, and we, do during Christmas. It’s a day spent with family and not going out and getting crazy, as we do. This does not mean that eventually people leave their homes to get crazy in the new year – i.e., after 12am. As luck would have it, one of the guy’s father whom we were talking with at the 2^nd club owns some fancy shmancy club down the way. He and his gang, including Fantina, the super crazy sexy hot girl that gave me her number, will be coming by moments after 12 to go to this club, VIP passes in hand. Tomorrow is likely to be insane.

Oh, but wait, there’s more. Tomorrow we’re having a dinner party at the teacher’s house. During the past couple of party days, we’ve taken the liberty to invite many, many people. God knows who’s going to show up. Among them however are the group of 4 girls I met 2 days ago. I’m wondering what’s going to happen when Irma and Fantina both show at the same time. Cat fight!

I wonder if I should be concerned that my 21 year old roommate, Caroline, hasn’t returned home. It’s now 6am.

…

It’s the next day, and Caroline walked through the door at 2pm, just as I was waking up. “Where the hell were you?” I asked. Really I shouldn’t have asked though – if I ask no questions she will tell no lies.

So many other things to tell, but maybe for another post. I found a place that offers free wireless internet, but there’s something wrong with my laptop. They’re nice enough though to allow me to hook an Ethernet cable right up to their router.

People are so nice here it’s crazy. I’m sure it has something to do with the color of my skin, but whatever. This is not TJ!! I’m not sure if I’ve already posted this elsewhere, but SLP is really the Hamptons of Mexico. There are Hummers, Corvettes, Escalades, etc.