There's Nothing Like a Good Gay Foam Party

That's what I always say.

Admittedly, there are some nights that sneak up on you. You're out on the town and somehow the evening just keeps leading to more fun. On the other hand, some nights wreak of debauchery before you ever open the front door. Friday night was the latter.

I was supposed to meet my friends Marcelo and Kari at 1 am at this club, Amerika. About 10 minutes before leaving my apartment to meet them, Marcelo calls and tells me that I may not recognize him because he's dressed in drag.

Here we go.

The previous night I'd gone out with some other friends and when I mentioned plans of Amerika, their only response had been "mucho gays." But I'm thinking to myself, "I'm an equal opportunity employer and up for an adventure, why not?" Plus, the music was supposed to be excellent, and I knew I was going to be in the company of at least one other heterosexual (Kari).

I had no idea what I was in for.

Turns out everyone at Amerika pays 35 pesos ($12) to enter, and then it's all you can drink all night. That should have been my first tip that things would get ugly. Upon arrival Marcelo also informs me that at some point there will be a foam party and that when it occurs things will get "nasty, nasty, nasty." At this point, I'm giving Kari the "you + me = white on rice" stare-down. Anyways, after a few drinks we proceed to the dance floor where the number of shirtless men easily outnumbered any of my prognostications. Thankfully, by now two additional heterosexual female friends had joined our crew. Now my eyes had the luxury of alternating amongst the three ladies in our mini-cocoon.

Well about 3:30 am the foam party comes and with it every two-legged male in the building makes a B-line for the dance floor. The mass calling left an expansive area for me to take over upstairs in the back of the club. From that locale I could see the madness (pure madness) without needing to partake. Great spot for me. I did notice one girl on her bachelorette party dancing on a huge block in the middle of the foam with about 15 men. If I were her husband-to-be, I really wouldn't want to know what transpired from that juncture on.

Another 90 minutes or so expire and then the foam comes again. At this point one of the girls in our group, Elizabeth, looks at me and asks, "quieres ir al centro (want to go to the middle)?" Now there are a lot of moments in life when you shrug things off. You know deep down this is something you wouldn't do 9 times out of 10, and then suddenly you realize that one time in ten is now.

The next thing I know I'm dancing in 4 feet of foam with this girl and about a hundred shirtless men. What a spectacle. And the foam kept coming and coming; only to be followed by a misty rain. In the end I have to admit it was pretty fun (and very, very wet). Thankfully, my half-nude, Y-chromosome cohorts were very respectful. To my relief not once did I experience an unexpected body bump or flirtation while dancing with Elizabeth.

A good end to a crazy night. A night that neither I, nor my soaked attire, will ever forget.

Other random observations from BA:

There is a casino that is approximately 1/3 mile long UNDERNEATH the local horse racing track. You would never know it existed from the street, seemingly shunning Vegas and cementing a point: gamblers need not sight, merely smell.

There are more Chinese people here than I would have guessed, leading me yet again to the age old rumination, "just think about how many Chinamen there are in China."

On a 1 to 10 scale, if service at most restaurants in the States is an 8, I would rank service here a 4. It's a societal thing; people here never (ever) seem to be in a rush.

We need the beverage "Pomello" in the States. It's a carbonated, grapefruit concoction that tastes like a combination between Sprite and Mellow Yellow...only a little more citrusy.

Cheers to all, M.