2003-07-29 - 6:58 p.m.
I stayed in Zacatecas for a week. Didnīt do much. Ran a few times. Took long naps. Hung out with a sweet, goofy kid from California who was trying really hard to be a playah but it wasn't quite working out. His dates kept standing him up because their parents wouldn't let them leave the house. Anyhow, that's what they told him.
He seemed to think that, like him, I am in Mexico to get laid. So he directed my attention to the really hot Argentinian photographer he was traveling with. Who, at a disco one night, halfheartedly thrust his pelvis in my direction. Yuck. Nothing personal against him. He was really hot. He just didn't seem into it ...
I wandered and shopped and shot some photos and wrote and thought and listened and cooked. I looked around and watched and wandered some more.
The owner of the hostel, Ernesto, took me to a wedding. I was worried he'd make a pass at me, but I went because it sounded too good to miss. And then I was pissed when he didnīt even tell me I looked nice.
It was mostly just a wedding, except in Spanish. Until somebody picked up the groom and tossed him into the air. The men carried him around the room, alternately stripping him and pitching him skyward until he was down to his underwear.
The next morning, after breakfast, I told Ernesto's father that I needed some 'cabron.' He looked very confused so I pointed to where the dish soap was supposed to be.
'OH! Jabon! Es JA-BON.'
'Cabron' is Spanish for 'motherfucker.'
