A couple of weeks ago I went to my friend's birthday party. When she called me she said it started that day around 2:30p - 3ish and wouldn't go too late. I was working and showed up at 4:15. I was the first one there.
C and her husband B throw the absolute best parties. Both from well established families in Mexico City, then San Diego, their parties have a latin flair that sucks you in and doesn't spit you out until you are really drunk and it's way past your bedtime. There is always great background music and I have the best conversations with their usual guests, who are all intelligent, well traveled and bi-lingual.
The cool thing about this party was that Cynthia's guitar teacher came with his guitar and played amazing songs in Spanish for like 2 hours. A lot of times the guests would sing along or clap or dance - it was awesome. Afterward, he handed out some cd's he had made and on which he calls himself El Troubador. I had taken photos of him playing and gave him my card so he could make sure I send the good ones to him.
And the night powered on. We had paella and the party broke into 2 different rooms, one with dancing and the other with deep discussion. I met a really interesting and attractive guy and we were hitting it off. We were selected to go on the next beer mission and had a good time getting lost in a foreign neighborhood. We hung out talking for about another 45 minutes. We both started to feel like our connection was getting too obvious to the rest of the crowd; we were sensing whispers between guests, so we separated.
Hours and hours and hours since I had arrived, at 2 a.m., I could feel it was time to leave. "What! It's still early!" cried the birthday girl. Ah, those people really know how to party. On my way out, my beer-run partner got up and asked for my number. Goody!
Since the party, I have received 4 e-mails and 3 phone calls. From El Troubador! Nothing from the beer-run partner. El T is in hot pursuit and I'm absolutely not interested. Ah, well.
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