Last night she said, "Baby, I feel so down."

Getting free Mezcal is natch, y'all.

And yelling the words to "Last Night" in between songs to get the band to play the Strokes? Drunken joy.

And pictures of me smiling with a lime rind for teeth? Well, that's just class with a capital K.

No one on the corner has swagger like us

This weekend has been pretty freakin' amazing, and I promise I will post pictures soon someday. But for now I have just a few tidbits.


Last night, at one point, we (Catherine, her friend Tara, and I) were in a bar in the seediest part of Oaxaca. We were going to leave soon, but I was already quite fed up with the place. This guy comes up to me with a bottle of something neon green and asks if I want a shot.

"No thanks," I say.

"Come on, it's only water."

"No mames,*" I said, because, Fucking seriously?

"Okay," he says, "it's water with lime."

"No mames," I repeat, and then turn away.

Half an hour later, we finally left that bar to meet up with Jill, Carlos, and Dulce. We walked in to the band playing "Last Night" and it made me so happy, I completely forgot to care about that stupid bar. And we all sang along, really loudly and obnoxiously, because that's what the Strokes do to us white girls.


Then after that bar, around 3 a.m., on my way home with Carlos, Jill, and Dulce, Jill and I started singing "Paper Planes" in our attempts to be gangsta'. Dulce and Carlos found this very funny, even though I don't think they understand the lyrics (they don't speak English). But I'm sure thug stares translated perfectly.


*Don't bullshit

Shit

"Me gusta ver a ti," me dijo.

Oh dear, I think but don't say, you're sixteen. You're sixteen. You're sixteen.

But damn, you're fucking cute.



When I got home, I opened the door to find Daca asleep on the stairs. My entrance woke up him and he seemed really fucking terrified for a minute, so I asked him what he was doing, you know, sleeping on the stairs. He didn't really have an answer, other than, 'I just sat down there for a sec' and denied being drunk. But the loud stumbling up the stairs and running into walls begged to differ.

Five-day weekend

I have gone out every night since Wednesday.



When did I become cool?

Streetwalking

So I was out and aboot last night with my friends, and we were walking to some bar or another, when I suddenly hear someone yell, "ARIELLE!"

I think, Oh shit, who could that be? because it's probably someone I met with the intention of never seeing again.


It was Daca, our new student.

"Mi hermana!" he calls out in his bad Spanish accent.

I hope he was drunk.

El mejor adviso todavía he oído

Para toda mal: Mezcal. Para toda bien: también.

Fuimos a Monte Alban y una iglesia se llama Cuilapán hoy. Poneré fotos cuando las están (estén? sí, estén) estén en Flickr.

My first Mezcal

Most of the rest of the students in the program arrived today, and this girl named Catherine gave me a call. She's an indie kid (the good kind) from upstate New York who buys loose tobacco and skins instead of real cigarettes.

We met up with Ashley at the Zócalo (that's the proper name for the central plaza) and we were chatting outside the Hotel Monte Alban when this guy named Carlos came up to us, saying he needed to talk to someone in English. Okay, whatever. He said he's from Oaxaca but lived in San Diego and Chicago, which explained his American accent. He talked to us for awhile, then came back fifteen minutes later and suggested we go out.

Okay, we said, one drink.

His brother (okay) and his father (what?) came with us and ordered six Mezcals. Which is Oaxacan tequlia. I think. Anyway, it was somewhat awkward, because we fully intended to scadoodle (and Ashley kept mentioning the movie Taken to us, like, WE KNOW IT'S SKETCH, DON'T REMIND US) after the one drink. Which we did.

But hey, first drink! Bought for me by Mexicans! On my second night here! We are fucking pro.