I wanted to go to El Buen Dios: 05 de marzo de 2015
I realized I never talked about that night last week at my guy friend’s apartment, when I wanted to go to El Buen Dios, because I’ve been there twice and I don’t remember anything from either time (thanks alcohol), but I know it’s a really cool bar with good music. We were pregaming at his apartment, and every time I was like, “Ok, vamos, estoy lista,” he poured us another drink, started rolling another joint, procrastinating the shit out of us going out.
This guy friend of mine has super good vibes. He’s so calm and relaxed and easy-going, and I am a crazy person after smoking paraguayo, twitchy and a head crowded with words, so the contrast between us creates this intoxicated equilibrium that I feel very comfortable inhabiting. He offered me an acid tab and I took it eagerly, ready for any adventure, anything new or different or strange.
We change the music and thus the vibe, experimenting with the onda, drinking iced wine with lemon and chain smoking paraguayan cigarettes. I demand a pen and a piece of paper and in a minute there is a fresh sheet in front of me, a black ink pen placed carefully to the side, and I begin scribbling furiously, what I always do in the midst of madness. There are just too many things! How else can I process all the information coming out of everywhere?
We go like that for awhile, wasting time, wandering around the apartment, staring at the stars and the city lights from the balcony in the cool, rain-dampened night. He grabs my waist in the darkness and I realize that the inevitable is soon to come, what always materializes out of the drunken, blurred ether when there is a man and a woman alone in a dimly lit apartment, what is bound to happen if we don’t go to El Buen Dios now, so I remind him, “Vaaaamoooooo, quiero salir!”
And he quickly busies himself with another faso, another joint made of the mierda de Paraguay, pulling out a thick brick of dark green and a new rolling paper. Slightly annoyed, I sit at the computer and look for another music option, thinking, fuck it, I do want to smoke more…But as I’m searching YouTube he approaches, the unfinished joint is laying on the table and there’s something in his hand he’s offering me.
It’s another tab of acid. I decline, I’m already riding the perfect wave, I feel great actually, no thanks. But he won’t let it go, he insists, he waves it in my face, “¡toma!, ¡dale!” Ok, Jesus. I take it, we bump our fingers together, a cheers to insanity, and we put them under our tongues. As he turns his back, begins pouring us more wine, I take out my chapstick and in one slick movement the acid is no longer under my tongue but under the cap of that fruity lip balm.
I put my jacket on, say, “Daaaaalllleeeeee, vamos,” pick up the end of a joint we’ve left on the counter and slip it into my pocket, and as he’s busy finishing the joint he started earlier I move towards the door. “Dale, yo voy al Buen Dios ahora.” I can’t help giggling as I yank the door open and he sputters, “Che, ¡¿qué onda?!” and I dash down the hall towards the elevator. A young couple appear from around the corner and I dodge them, still laughing as they raise their eyebrows at me.
Men are all the same, what did he expect? He was subtle and patient and gentle, but his strategy became obvious after a short while, and the minute a man’s strategy (because they always have a strategy) becomes clear, I’m bored and looking for a way out. In this way it will always be a fantastic game, relations between men and women. I can’t wait to find someone that is a much more intuitive player than I am.
He did almost everything right: he gave me fuzzy slippers, drugs, alcohol, tranquil vibes, good music, intelligent conversation. He did everything I wanted, he accommodated to all my needs, made sure I was comfortable, let me mentally jizz all over that clean sheet of paper without interruption. He didn’t blabber on and on about nothing like most people I know (although I don’t mind so much when they blabber in Spanish since I’m learning). It was actually really fun.
Shit, he almost had me, I think, as I’m pressing the door-close button in the elevator, antsy, bouncing on my heels, amphetamine-mind clicking as the doors close slowly, encasing me in a thick box of metal. Safe! My heart’s pounding as I finger the joint in my pocket, and I laugh out loud. Will I continue to use horny men in order to steal a high? To use their proffered resources for my own perceived benefit?
If this is the only way I will get drugs, I’ll at least get them for free…The doors open at the bottom, the doorman lets me out, and I’m free, another shadow in the night. I take flight, energy bursting from neuronal changes, brain chemicals pleasurably fucked. I decide going to a bar sola y drogada may not be the best idea, so I jog back to the hostel in the sprinkling mist, smoke a cigarette on the patio, chase la Chiqi around the yard in the dewy grass.
And thus closes our mini adventure. The next comes soon, and after? Well, I have an acid tab I’m saving for another night of locura…