Pasatore, La Fianna, et al. Met some Swedish girls who half-dragged my to Chupitos (”Shots”), where we did shots. Then we went to Buddha Bar.
Buddha Bar was a club. The (hotchick) bouncer at the front was all “Are you on a list?” and they were all “Uh, we’re Swedish chicks” and she took a look at me and said “Next time, get on the list”. We went into this club of clubs. The music was great. The girls were all smoking-hot. It was awful.
Within two minutes I was tapped to keep horrible dudes at bay, and within 4 minutes I had pissed off every awful, awful dude within two dude groups of our Swedish chick group. Every one of them deserved it. Fucking awful!!!
Soon, we were escorted into the VIP section of the bar, except I wasn’t escorted at all. I actually just got the rope. Now, I know how things go down, and I know I’m a scruffy dude in a sticky club, but they did it sneaky-like. I gave the them the finger and headed out of the bar. One bouncer dude grabbed me. I told him (in English) that he was to let go of me. He did.
I bailed. More bouncer dudes said shit that nobody understands at the door, so I threw up what could have been gang signs and said “Adios”. Fucking clubs. I really think that will be the last time.
I was so pissed that the healthy walk home did nothing to calm me down, until I walked passed a guy near Arco de Triomfo playing guitar. Hoooly shit, what a glorious life. I grabbed my own guitar from my apt, sat down directly underneath the Arc, and played some songs that nobody’s ever heard before. The guy who inspired me eventually wandered over, said hello, and taught me Hotel California.
I knew that shit would happen. A glorious night that went to shit got resurrected by playing music. Why would I do anything else?