Look at me!

Hey - check this out! They've taken the firewall down! I can get blogger in the office! This could be the beginning of something very dangerous....

In fact, I've avoided checking whether I could get blogger in the office for about 2 months now, despite my hunch. All my good intentions done for. I hereby commit to be just as flaky and unreliable as ever with blogging, because I. Will. Not. Blog. From. Work.
With whoever y'all are (Clare & Sharon & Lisa & Rane and Siobhán. Hey! Do any boys read this thing?!) as my witness.

Nonetheless, I've been meaning to chat about my Saturday night for a while now, and what's more, it fulfils Sharon's request for day-to-day detail.

On Saturday we went to our poshest nightclub yet. It's called Kabbalah (if there's one thing Tegucigalpa isn't, it's sophisticated) and it's what would be called a superpub in Dublin. Characteristics as follows:

• Extravagantly long queue for entry.
• Absurd door policy. The bouncers didn't want to let us in because we didn't have a reservation. A reservation to enter a jumped up pub full of pissed fifteen year olds at 11 o'clock at night. That's when I decided to go home. (To spare you the anticipation, I went home at closing time, once they dragged me down from the stage and wrestled the tequila from my hand).
• A $6 dollar entry fee (this is VERY much money in Tegus) sweetened by a "free" drink of your choice - as long as it's rum and coke.
• Ludicrous middle eastern themed decor; gold lamps, yellow painted walls, that sort of thing. Sofas.
• IDIOTS. By the million. The place, which is enormous, was choc full of GOBSHITES.
• And so on. I think you get the general picture quite clearly.

Being in very very bad form with the whole place, the only thing for it was to get royally drunk, which I did. On tequila, god bless me. At one point, a ten foot black man approached to chat us up, because, like him, we were clearly foreign and English speaking. I got trapped talking to him. He told me that he worked for the American government, which point I tried to push, thinking that he must work for the CIA. But it was very quickly evident that he wasn't bright enough to work for the CIA. Lord, he wasn't bright enough to work for KFC. He commented that we spoke very good English, and didn't bat an eyelid when Eva pointed out that it was our mother tongue (probably because he didn't know what a mother tongue was). He was quite sweet, although completely, utterly vacuous. As I was avoiding eye contact, and as he was 10 foot tall, I never saw the ostentatious diamond earring that turned my friends off.

And bless us all and my stupidity, it took Lorna to point out to me that he was clearly US military.

I felt dirty. And that was before I saw the two women draped over him later.