Last week, I had invited Brian Wynn to Juarez for breakfast and to spend the day with him. The plan was quite simple – breakfast, a tour of the Old Mercado, museums, and to while the afternoon away at my flat watching DVD’s. Very simple. Anticipated all week – during so, Brian worked me up flirting at work, so you can imaging I was running on high by time the day rolled around.
The night before – cleaned the trap – got a hair cut – prepared everything and the time arrived. Was to meet him Mexican side of the International Bridge at eight a.m. for breakfast. Stood there chain smoking, cause I was nervous – face it, I hate waiting and I am horrible at dating…especially if I like the guy. I turn to mush.
Brian is an hour late. He crosses the wrong bridge, which is understandable. Now, Brian is agreeable to the eyes but somewhat dingy and he was acting extra wacky this morning as we walked down Juarez Avenue to Avenida 16th de Septembre to Café Central for breakfast. And when we reached said restaurant it went all to shit – it was like one of those blind date shows on television that goes bad and you feel sorry for the guys except it’s happening to you. Everything I seemed to say, Brian had a snotty remark to say or he flew off into his dementia and began making no sense. He then stated that he had to be back in the states by eleven in the morning for some interview at a convenience store – which I thought, was bullshit. I left work at four in the afternoon yesterday, he was sleeping in his bunk and he never mentioned it – the conversations at the table deteriorated more and more into snappy remarks until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I told him I am ending this circus now, paid the bill and walked him to the bridge.
As we strode back to the International Bridge, Bryan kept babbling away esoterically how he kept his part of the bargain coming down to Juarez – like that placated his actions at the café – I know a flake when I see it. And I decided to lop this loser off. Halfway there of coarse he tried to turn things and say perhaps we can still work things out. No way, it ends at the bridge. I handed Brian the three pesos and bid him goodbye.
I have come to the conclusion that I am damned to walk this world alone.
So, I slunk back to my trap – Angry…angry at the world – Lazo somehow pops up behind me on the corner from my house filthy and furtive and I snap that he best stay his distance and the worst thing for him to do is to ask me for money – which he does at my door which is slammed in his face.
The afternoon spent in grumpy depression. Watch a couple of DVD’s. Slept – it is so hellishly hot that even the spankin’ new fan that I had purchased can’t – won’t – help. Lay there on my queen size thinking of him and all the others – Why? Am I that much of a shmuck? Am I that far out? Or do I have the unnerving habit of just picking the retards…
Well, sun goes down as any vampire should I get ready for a night out on the town. I first hit my Café Internet and bang out a few letters and then cruise over to the Plaza las Armas where some Rebels are having a ho-down. I think that ski masks and rifles are quite hot on the right people. Little Lolo arrives first and we sit and shoot the shit. I get hungry, so while he talks with a friend I jet over for some tacos carne asada and they were quite toothsome I tell you. Back at the Plaza, the rest of the Juarez Irregulars arrive and off we go to a new dive that Isidio speaks of and grrl it is a snore factory.
So, we skip over to Bar Olympico and amidst the oldies and the yunguns that love ‘em we drink Sol cervezas and laugh and talk. Onward to Bar Callatillas, our tried and true watering hole. Tottering hottie eyeballs me and I soon forget Bryan and all his silliness.
Then it is off to Freegay Disco and we boogie down for it is the birthday of Alfredo and we all get ripped on a massive bottle of Absolut. And that shit can’t be beat. Skinhead cholo type in wife beater and baggy khakis kisses me deep in a dark corner after a wild dance mix of Daddy Yankee. The strippers were quite good this evening.
After the joint closes, group and I stand outside and a boatload of hotties in yellow SUV yell for me to get in with them to go to some house party – but I decline as some drunk naco with massive crotch wobbling next to me breaths beer and tacos in my face. Sexy lips, though.
This is when it gets stupid. Isidio’s boyfriend - his name is Arturo, and he is fucking Hot! Sexy! Hot!– through blatant manipulation and obvious intentions – invites me to tacos and then we walk down my street – which is on the way to his house also. We left the others to go home their various routes. Obviously, and I hadn’t known this before, Arturo lives near me or something like that. Well, Arturo is drunk offa his ass and like I said blatantly makes his intentions clear that he wants to fuck the bajeesus outta me. I decline stating that Isidio and him are boyfriends and I didn’t need that kind of fag-o-drama in my life, having mucho respecto for Isidio and Arturo for that matter. I walked Arturo halfway to his house – with him pleading all the way…kinda cute – and then I returned home alone.
After what happened this morning, for some reason I wasn’t in the mood for nobody or nothing.
1 comment:
I think you just havent found the right guy to spend some nights in with, JUST watching movies and banging like crazy, the adventure will always be there dez, but you seem to not want to put up with it anymore, so what do you do angelito?
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