This past weekend was the first weekend in Buenos Aires that I can actually consider as mediocre, or even boring.  There were some fun parts, but it was overall a giant piece of crap.  

On Friday Phoebe and I decided that we would not go to the Alamo (Voted Planet Earth’s Worst, Yet Cheapest Bar) for once and explore other options.  Life Lesson #1: When a bar has a “Two drinks for 20 pesos” deal, you do not need to go explore other options.  We had to learn this the hard way.  Instead, we went to this really upscale bar in Recoleta called Millón.  It was very chic and had this beautiful outdoor garden and now I’m definitely trying to get myself an Argentine Sugar Daddy so that he can bring me there all the time.  But let’s be real, 30 pesos for one drink?  YOU BE CRAY-CRAY MILLÓN!  It was pretty funny though because Phoebe and I were remembering our Alamo adventures and she busted out some Texan knowledge (Hey, y’all!) and was talking about how Mexicans killed everyone in the real Alamo.  So of course my imagination went into overdrive and I imagined a Mariachi band coming in, playing a traditional Mexican song, then shooting everyone with their instruments which doubled as machine guns.  ¡Olé!

Basically the rest of our night went like this:
1) Got into an argument with a cab driver who wanted to overcharge us 
2) Couldn’t go into the boliche because they wanted ID and Mahalut, Phoebe, and I didn’t have any
3) Someone wore this shirt and it made me want to drown myself in the Río de la Plata

(Virginity is a problem.  He has the solution.  And by “he” he means his dick.  BRB, jumping off my balcony right now.)
4) Went to McDonald’s where a group of 14 year old Argentine girls told us to sit with them and then made fun of how we spoke English.  I’m still confused.  But I’m more confused about why this man was asleep in a McDonald’s at 4 AM with his hand in his pants.
 

Saturday was better.  Lily, Marysa, Ali, Sha, and I went to a parilla (an Argentine grill) called Litoral in Palermo AND IT WAS PHENOMENAL.  My favorite parilla is Lo de Bebe (on Charcas y Ortiz in Palermo if anyone reading this is craving meat) but this new one is the crème de la crème of the parillas I’ve eaten at.  I think we might have eaten an entire cow.  We ordered so much—tapas, asado, chorizo, blood sausage, wine, the works!  I was very nearly in a meat coma.  It was a bit more expensive than Lo de Bebe.  And by a “bit more expensive” I mean that my entire meal was $12 instead of $8.  I’m never eating when I go back to the U.S. because meat will never be this delicious and cheap.  Something rather interesting was that we made reservations for 10 PM and the place was DEAD.  There were probably four other people eating there.  But by time we left at 12:45 AM, a few huge parties came in to start dinner.  Oh, Buenos Aires, you slay me. 

After this, I took the colectivo back to Recoleta to meet up with everyone at Sabbia.  What a cool bar!  I felt like I was in a European car commercial.  We ran into Kate, our Student Life Director, with her boyfriend Federico.  She is the coolest.  She asked me if I had used any of my newly learned Argentine threats on any more potential biters and then made me practice on her Federico’s brother.  I kept saying things like “¡Vos sos repesado mal!” (You’re mad annoying) and “¡Ubicáte!” (Check yourself). Apparently, I’m really hilarious when I try to be mean because he kept laughing and saying that he couldn’t take me seriously. He taught me some more insults and assured me that not all Argentines bite people.  I’ll believe it when I see it.  

Everyone left to go to Crobar, but I was already four blocks from my house so I hung out with Kate & Family instead.  We went to Shamrock, an Irish pub LITERALLY around the corner from my apartment.  I can basically see into my room from the bar (No, I can’t).  Anyway, we all hung out for a bit, Kate and I had some girl talk, and I got to speak more Castellaño.  I decided to head home early (i.e. 4 AM) because I had to get some sleep before the superclásico.

The superclásico…where do I even begin?  South American soccer is crazy to begin with, and then we have the most fierce rivalry in the sport.  It was raining like it was the end of the world, but it didn’t matter that we were drenched because we were jumping up and down from excitement while decked out in our Boca jerseys and our last minute jacket/trash bag purchases. Barely anyone brought umbrellas;  Argentines don’t really care if they’re drenched, they outlook on life is like, “¿Está lloviendo?  Así es la vida.”  Thankfully Lily’s hair doesn’t respond well to water, so she brought an umbrella and we had a tiny bit of shelter while we waited for Noah’s Ark to come pick us up from the flood.
 

River Plate fans had to go in first and we had to wait 40 minutes because they wanted to make sure that there would be no fights.  People are crazy about their teams here.  There were riot police everywhere and as we got closer to the Bombonera stadium the River fans began shouting insults at Boca fan and the Boca fans shouted right back.  My favorite insult was “¡Rojo es el color de la concha de tu abuela!” (Red is the color of your grandma’s pussy…don’t worry, I’m vomiting, too)  The stadium was PACKED.  It was pure insanity—everyone was singing and chanting and jumping and going wild.  

Crazy Boca Fans.  The “Jugador N.12” sign is there because the fans are so intense, they say that they’re like the 12th player on the field:


Finally the game began and it lasted three minutes BECAUSE IT WAS POSTPONED UNTIL THURSDAY.  WHAT THE HELL, UNIVERSE, THIS IS NOT FUNNY.  It had rained so much that the ball would literally stop in the middle of the field in a puddle.  What bad luck.  It’s okay though—it’s supposed to be 75 and sunny on Thursday and this way it’s like we got to see two superclásicos for the price of one!

Even though this weekend was a resounding “eaahh”, especially with the postponed game, it made me feel weirdly—for lack of a better word—content.  I’m actually living in Buenos Aires.  I’m not visiting.  I’m not a tourist.  When you live somewhere, not every weekend is going to be legendary.  This ordinary weekend made me feel so much more at home than I’ve ever felt in California.  

One of the lines from a Boca chant goes, “Cada día te quiero más” (Each day I love you more) and that’s exactly how I feel about Buenos Aires.