A Farewell to Meats

So, we didn't go to the asado because we're idiots. The asado-having dude wrote down the date (three times, in fact) as "Viernes, Dec. 23rd" and YES I know Viernes means Friday, but Dec. 23rd was burned in my brain and then when I looked, I realized Friday was the 22nd, and we we missed the whole thing. Ah well. Perhaps he will grill meats at some other time, and invite us again. But what I did do Friday was reach a whole new level of assholery by going to a goddamn fancy spa and paying ladies to squeeze me in places I can't reach and apply things to my face in sequences I can't memorize. Turns out gay shit like that is WAY CHEAPER than in New York and also, that I love gay shit like that. So Megan and I went to Home, which is this fantastically frou-frou boutique hotel where, natch, the Bush whores stayed when they came here, and has a spa, and well, I emerged well-rubbed and facialized. Then I ruined it all by drinking a pile of insanely delicious girly minty drinks and then switching to bourbon when it got to be too much and finally just shoveling down a pile of empanadas and cigarettes and more bourbon and, well, today mama feels like she got hit by a truck. But we are having a little Christmas party down here on Christmas Day. I'm making eggnog (with cream that is 42% milkfat, eat it bitches) and John got this awesome little tree made of like plastic and rat turds which I will post pictures of, and one thing I like is that down here they don't assault you with Christmas crap everywhere and canned carols in all the stores and a fat man in a red suit on every corner looking to bad-touch your five year old and for that, I say hooray. Hooray!