Hookers and Transvestites.

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

Loading Map
Map your own trip!
Map Options
Show trip route
Hide lines

Flag of Argentina  , Capital Federal District,
Sunday, July 1, 2012

My urine is like syrup.  I need water.  I spend the day drinking the weight of myself in the stuff, then around 8pm I eat four slices of Pizza.  The girls are persuading me to go out as it's their last night, but I look like my cheeks have taken several open handed slaps in a row.  I need laser skin surgery.  Or maybe just a new face.  I think I've got Rosecea.  Consequently I'm not fussed about going out.  I keep journeying into the bathroom to inspect the pepperoni boat race, only to return dejected and world weary back to my lazy position on someone elses bed.  It's from here that is the only access to a decent socket for the laptop.  What have I said before?  Showers, sockets, shelf for a top bunk, smoothie bar.  Anyway I digress.

At about 1am I suddenly realise I'm in Buenos Aires and people are going out.  This is after sleeping through the European Championship final.  Apparently Spain won 4-0.  I've done that before.  I didn't catch a minute of England-Brazil when they met in World Cup 2002.  I was still asleep recovering from another big night out in Glasgow.  I didn't miss much anyway.

I think one of the reasons I go out a lot is I'm scared I'll miss something if I don't.  Life doesn't just happen in bars and clubs, there is more out there to be enjoyed.  Right now though I can't get out of that rut of poisoning myself every night.  I'm staring through my computer screen, not paying any attention to the chess moves before me, when I pull myself together and throw a shirt on.  Fifteen minutes later I'm catching the tale end of the party at the other hostel, everyone is hammered and we're looking for a place to go out.  The pretty Scottish girl from the other night is there, but I've been relieved to know that she was hanging out of the bus window throwing up on the way to the club.  Classy girl.  Scots eh?

With nobody really in the mood to go far afield, someone (probably me) has suggested the club next door.  This looks like a serious dive.  It's free entry for girls, but a whopping 80 pesos for guys.  Midnight robbery.  Still I can't be bothered trailing around anymore and as it's getting late, it's going to have to do.  In we pile to the sounds of some decent techno and house.  

The place is crawling with hookers and one giant transvestite.  Now I've no idea if the guy that's talking to the he/she knows it's a he/she and isn't bothered anyway, or he genuinely thinks this is a gorgeous tall blond with massive breasts.  He/she hasn't half had some amount of work done on, errr, themselves.  All power to you.  Not my cup of tea and although he/she is trying to catch my eye, I decide to look elsewhere.  

Elsewhere being the bottom of a bottle.  Once again the booze flows, and once again I leave empty handed.  The Scottish girl has been canoodling with some American dude for the night so that's off limits, and I've no idea who is a hooker and who isn't.  I wonder if paying for a sympathy cuddle is wrong.  Also everyone in the club seems to be wearing sunglasses.  Now I reckon that most of them think they look like Puff P Diddy Daddy or whatever his name is now, but in reality how the fuck are you meant to see?  It's pitch black for goodness sake. Upturned collars and bling jewellery complete the look, but really they just look like naff wannabes.  After lfailing to for anyone of note, I decide it's time to call it a night.  At least I've not far to walk in the pouring rain.      



Report as Spam
  • Your comment has been posted. Click here or reload this page to see it below.

  • You must enter a comment
  • You must enter your name
  • You must enter a valid name. < > \ / are not accepted
  • Please enter your email address to receive notification
  • Please enter a valid email address

Use this image in your site

Copy and paste this html: