Tuesday, April 22

Naked vegans and racist latinos

Interesting night. My favorite pair of roommates, Jorge, a mexican musician, and John, my dear Scottish friend, invited me and some others to "a vegan dinner for 3 euros". Since it's getting near the end of the month and my budget is tight, I figured it would be a fun and cheap way to spend my Saturday night. We all met at my place and then left together for the Southern part of the city. We maze through the streets and finally arrive at the right address but it's neither a house nor a business... it's just an abandoned building still wet with graffiti. We ring the bell and a man clutching a cat opens the door and lets us in, not asking who we were or who we knew. We walk into the empty building, complete with cement floors, and see some anti-capitalist fliers and a bunch of plastic chairs laid about, there are some stairs on the left that lead us down to where Jorge and his friends are sitting. We all kiss and greet and then open the bottles of wine we brought so that our social juices start flowing.
Everyone is pretty young, between 19 and 25, I'd say. After a little while of chatting, we decide to take a walk around the block while a nude musician prepares to take the stage at the squat. We return right in time to catch him begin his first set. He's butt naked, his willy hanging out for us all to see, and he's welcomed to the stage with whistles and applause. Not a handsome man by any means, just a regular guy. He sits in the spotlight with his guitar and pulls out a small notebook he lays on his left knee. He's clearly a bit nervous, though I doubt this is his first performance of this kind. He's terrible, he's really just shouting and banging the strings... a real mess. There are more people here, probably about thirty. I'm rather surprised, either the vegan food must be really good or the second act has got to be one hell of a talent... or a naked chic or something.
We're hanging out by the "kitchen" while they're putting out the food. There is no stove, but only a fridge and a bunch of pots and pans and tuperware covered in aluminum foil. We pay our three euros each and get a little ticket that we present to the man behind the counter preparing the food. The first course is salad in a plastic cup with nutty croutons in it. Every bit of it was surprisingly delcious, the dressing reminded me of Oscar's (San Diegans know what I'm talking about) and there was even avocado in it. A far cry from the kinds of salad you'll find in a typical Spanish restaurant. Next up, there is a squash and pumpkin mush concoction... again, fucking tasty, even though it looks like baby food. I see the desert is a chocolate cake, but I'm not ready for it yet, I want more of this exciting yet simple food to fill my stomach. I pay a euro more to get a garbanzo bean and lemon bocadillo, which is essentially hummus with freshly-squeezed lemon juice on a baguette. Satisfying and filling. On to the desert, a chocolate cake drizzled with rasberry sauce on a paper plate. If it had a nicer presentation, this food could certainly have been served at a legitimate restaurant. We finish off the bottles of wine and as a new "talent" takes the stage we decide to leave.
John takes us to a house party thrown by a secretary he works with. She's latina and so are all the people at the party minus us. The music is wonderfully regaton. We drop off the booze at the snack table... the apartment is nice, clean, spacious, it's got blue and white streamers all around. We wonder if this is actually a birthday party. I chat with my co-worker Katka a bit on the couch, I haven't spent much time with her outside of work but I really like her, she's easygoing and on the level. Then once I've had enough to drink, Robin convinces me to take the dance floor with him... not long after, our Anglo party of six is told to leave... I didn't think until now that I may have prompted that request by "workin it" on the dancefloor with a Scottish guy in front of a bunch of salsa dancing latinos. hmmmm. Anyway, we left the party and John was especially pissed. I don't remember a whole lot after that. After getting on the metro to head home, I rested my head on Richard's shoulder and since I couldn't manage walking home on my own, Katka and Richard helped me to Katka's place where some of us crashed for the night. I remember not even being able to sit on the toilet to pee without my head spinning and my body swaying. Once I got to bed though, I was out like a light and woke up feeling better than I expected.
Richard later discovered that his wallet was stolen that night in the metro, he canceled all his credit cards and lost about 10 euros in cash. Sucks. Still haven't had to go through that nightmare yet... knock on wood.

One of the the more interesting nights I've had these past few weeks.

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