Slurpin' Oysters on the Halfshell.

I can't control this. I don't even know why I pretend I can. I believe if I had just accepted the fact that my life is this weird unpredictable psycho drama being transmitted via satellite to viewers in another galaxy - I wouldn't be the mental mess I am now. Yeah, somewhere out there - they are laughing their antennas off.

My pal Abel decided that it would be 'fun' to try and repeat the prior drinking binge that we endured last Saturday. Sure, I say - wouldn't you?

Problem was - it was Winter's last attempt at getting everyone sick so the weather at the beach was unendurable. Abel and I returned to the same restaurant - empty and void of patrons, below us the beach was occupied with no more than ten hardy beach goers all frolicking like there wasn't zero degree winds blowing freezing air up their cahooties. Even the shivering waitress - the same that so coyly slipped her number to Abel on our previous outing - braved the elements to serve us out on that blustering balcony.

But, I digress. After two buckets of beer and slurping down an order of oysters - the world seemed like a better less bitter place. But, I had to admit among these freezing festivities to Abel that it is goddamn cold and could we not get the fuck inside? With the fates shining on us, Abel received a call on his cell from his patron (That's boss fer ya ignorant fucks that no speeky spanish) that he needs to drop what he's doing come downtown to the plant and fill the service truck up with petrol - or gas far ya 'mericans.

Good thing, too - cause I couldn't tolerate that shitty weather no more. So, we split the bill and jumped a cab to Tijuana centro. As you readers may or may not know - frankly I don't givva fuck - Abel is a delivery driver for JerseyMilk here in Tijuana. Felt a wee bit macho pootin' around town in that truck cab to the gas station and back.

I suggested to Abel that since we were downtown and it being Saturday night - let's hit the strip. Sure he grunts and we wobble off to El Revo. Depression hit as I noticed because of the current economical shenanigans how many long standing discos have gone defunct.

Abel being the hopelessly heterosexual fucker he is - we strolled down to Las Pulgas and the joint was jumping. Inside vaqueros whirled and swirled with their girls to the beat of live bands but my dear friend didn't want to go in. He confided that though he liked the place - he used to work there but had attained a reputation of ill-repuke.

No prob, I says and we dart over to Patio Bar - that tranquilo bi-sex bar nestled in Plaza Santa Cecilia across from the row of fag bars. Inside we sat at one of the well worn wooden bench tables as Nirvana blared over the rockola. Abel was happy because the small dank bar was crawling with young "chicks". I really like the bar, too - it is definitely the spot. My new spot, anyway. As Abel ogled the girls, I salivated over caguamas of cerveza Victoria at the pretty boys that meandered through the crowd. The clientele was all young college type kids in their Che Guevara denim costumes sitting chatting drinking. No whirling gestulating pinch faced fags here. The air was permeated in cigarette smoke - a blatant FU to the newly ordained nonsmoking ordinance in bars all under the blood shot appalled glare of the fat drunk tourist in the dim corner.

I was freakishly happy when two old friends showed up - Daniel, he of Bar DF and Philipe, the waiter from the Patio restaurant. The four of us downed booze after booze, shots of whisky and tequila and exchanged stories and antedotes that lasted late into the night. I excused my self to the little boys room - that penis peepin' menagerie - and as a fact there was an old fuck in there with a tacky purple sweater checking out every ones dry goods. Fucking pervert. However, to alleviate that madness, Philippe entered the restroom - called me into the stall and shared a couple lines of the old booger sugar that made the night real tasty.

Unfortunately, since Abel had to be at work the following morning to deliver milk at the ungodly hour of 5am - we said our goodnights and jumped a cab back to the beach.

Once home - it happened. Now I know what your thinking - I cast one of my wicked hoodoo spells and caused these events - but, no! I had no hand in it. While Abel was in the restroom taking a piss - I prepared me a bowl of diced fruit with yogurt, cause I was famished and devoured that shit before Abel even exited the toilet. I stood there at the sink washing my dishes - I keep a tight ship, kids, I hate clutter - when said Abel, prowler of the ladies, last of the red hot playboys - started his flirting shit again. He stood behind me grinding his crotch against my backside - in which I played along, wiggling seductively in a playful manner. I stopped, knowing it was all in play.

"Que paso...que paso?" I muttered returning to my dishes.

"Oye...mieda." He said to my left. And there he was tottering and glaring with bloodshot eyes, standing with his zipper open brandishing an erection. What did I do? I did what you would have done - what any red blooded homosexual would have done - I dropped to my knees right there in the kitchen in front of God and little baby Jesus and sucked that fucker like a champ.

Just about before he popped, he suggested turn off that damn water and let's go to the couch in the living room. Plop! Onto that couch and I kneeled beside him and slobbered all over that beautiful organ. Kablooey! White hot goo splattered in my mouth and I swallowed - whatever.

Afterwards, we made a couple of jokes and retired to our separate rooms.

Man, I just hope it doesn't get weird between the two of us now...