I can't dance, I can't talk, the only thing about me is the way that I walk.

Last night I went to see a play called La Chunga by Peruvian writer, Mario Vargas Llosa. Have you heard of him? You haven't?! And now you're probably going to tell me you don't know who Michael Jackson is either!... ok ok. Just kidding. Of course you haven't heard of him, Vargas Llosa, that is.
Anyways, there was a lesbian in the play. In fact, she was the main caracter! And her performance was, really, very rivetting. Among some of the highlights were drinking, nudity, seuxal content, trading money for sexual favors, violence, machismo, bad language, and lots of cigarettes.
And the/a moral of the story? I'm not quite sure, but for me, it had something to do with liberarting yourself from the oppresive, machista society that is holding you down and abusing you and making you a dependent, stupid, worthless barbie. Oooooof. Sounds like pretty heavy stuff. But it was really fun to go and see.
In fact! Before hand, this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store that could have been any grocery store in America with Haloween decorations and employees with little food samples that you eat with toothpicks and bought three beers. Then we left and walked to the Bibloteca Nacional (where the play was) and we walked and drank our cans of beer. In public, on the sidewalk, on the overpass, and then sitting outside of the entrance to the venue on the sidewalk.
And afterwards this is what we did:
We went to a grocery store, bought a large bottle of beer to share and then walked across the street to get on a bus to go to the center of Lima. And we drank our beer on the sidewalk and on the bus. And that was that. And it was good. Just like God says!

Then, we walked up this street to this bar. I like this street very very much because there is a LARGE grafitti painting of Jesus/Che. It is Jesus and Che Guevarra all at the same time! It is brilliant and it is fabulous and colorful. I hear that those two rascals were.... Socialists! No! Not Jesus. Jesus was a....let's see... capitalist, fair and square.
Anyways, I would really like to take a picture someday, but I'm a little scared. Oh well.

In this bar. We bought a whole bottle of Pisco. think... like... the size of a bottle of Smirnoff and equally as potent. And we were like, "Oh yeah, we'll just drink some of it now and save the rest for some other time." Bahhhh hahahaha. That was wishful thinking.
Anyways, we sat down at the bar, and there was this REALLY wasted dude sitting on the barstool right next to me. And we were at the bar in the first place because all the tables were taken. Well, this dude kept trying to talk to be and interrupt our conversation. And I was with only one other person, a male, and this drunk as a skunk huevon, STILL, kept trying to interrupt, all mumbly and stumbly and ridiculous. Let me just say. If one girl is with one boy, it is absolutely NOT in the "Do's" section of etiquette rulebook that you are allowed to hit on the girl. Well, one of the guys working there was kind enough to move us to another table in the back of the place. And there, we began to drink this bottle of Pisco. And you know what? The concept of a chaser, Like, take a shot, chase it with soda, does not exist here. You just have to grin and bear it here, in the most literal sense of the expression. Imginense, drinking an entire bottle of rum with no chaser. Well, I know a few people who are good at that. But not me. Well, I am now.
Anways, I looked around and thought to myself, "Where are all the ladies?"
This bar was filled with men. Like, groups of guys, colleaques, friends, whatever, and, in like the whole place, there were about 10 women. The ratio was like 100 to 1. It was weird. I didn't understand. But it was a cool place. And at the very end, we were talking to these two business men, about something that I really could not understand at all, and all I could think about was, "I need to eat something right. now."
We finally stumbled out of the bar around 3 am, I think, and got in a taxi, and found a place to eat.
And, while my compatriot was in the bathroom for the better portion of the hour that we were there, I was sitting in this booth, by myself, happily eating my chicken and fried rice, watching this big screen TV that had VH1 on, listening to Phil Collins sing "I can't dance" and the Velvet Underground sing "Rock and Roll" and watching everybody around me with their expressions on their faces thinking "What is this drunk gringa doing here, sitting by herself, while that dude with the long hair is puking in the bathroom?" It was really weird and kind of enjoyable. And, anyways, if my Karma clock is working properly, it's my turn to take care of drunk people that outdo themselves, after an entire year in Madison of everybody else taking care of me. But, after all was said and done last night, one thing is for sure:
I like American music!