Pub Crawling


Pub Sneaking-Away


Why I’m the Biggest Aguafiestas of All Time

Last night I did a thing that I would not typically do–I went to a pub crawl in a foreign country with a sizeable group of Americans.

Normally I avoid Americans in foreign countries. Normally I don’t go to pub crawls. But…when in Rome…

Mostly I went because I had an itchy feeling, wanting to be out of the house. And I wanted to meet Josh, a friend of Brett’s from Peace Corps, with whom I’ll be travelling.

He was nice, and also Mike (who will apperently be travelling with us, as well) was nice. And Mike’s friends Tim and Dan were nice. I think they’ll be travelling with us? I didn’t verify that. I started to get anxious, the more menfolk that jumped aboard this backpacking adventure. It just seems like a lot of dudes. Too many dudes. And me.

Actually, I came away from last night with the impression that the Peace Corps is basically a do-gooder frat.

So…yeah. That’s not really my style. Nor is binge drinking with a side of peer pressure. I prefer to binge drink on my own terms, thank you.

I mean, I understand that the deal worked out between the pub crawl people and the bars is that the bars give us free shots, knowing that we will then buy several drinks. But maybe the pub crawl people shouldn’t have encouraged us to drink so much in the park before hitting the bars, eh? Or maybe I still reserve the right NOT to have a drink in my hand at all times and NOT to have the pub crawl organizer order a bunch of drinks, tell people to drink them, and then demand money. And it’s not my fault that it was a Sunday night and there were only six of us and therefore nobody was going to make much money.

Yeah…I got cranky. And drunk.

So I did what I do when I’ve had one too many and am just generally over the situation–I walked home. Without saying goodbye.

I walked miles and miles through Buenos Aires at night and then struggled with the door at Jose’s (damned foreign keys!) before collapsing into bed (but not without trying to read a bit first. Why do I think that I must read every single night before bed, no matter how late it is or how drunk I am?).

Then, this morning, I woke up with a raging hangover, counted last night’s drinks (EIGHT–something I should have been counting at the time), and tried to have a day.

I hate letting hangovers steal the better part of the next day.

I hate doing things that I don’t feel like doing, only to prove myself right and have to live with the regret.

I’m not sure how I feel about do-gooder frat boys. It certainly doesn’t bode well for the next few weeks…stay tuned…