Bad Luck Continues but Can’t Stop San Jose
My Irish cousin, Simon, enjoyed the most unlikely of coincidences after leaving Arequipa for Lima. Excerpts from his email:
I just wanted to fill you in on a weird happening i had in Lima. As you may remember when we were in Deja Vu in Arequipa we were both dancing with those two gringo hunters (you had the smaller one with huge tits and a nice ass). Anyway we left for the whorehouse so i made my excuses and left with you, Gav and Nicholas. That was that.
The first night out in Lima i fucking run into them both towards the end of the night and we start talking (needless to say i was hammered). I was chatting to the one i was dancing with and her friend with some guy i met in the hostel we were staying in. Around 7 or so we all decide to leave except my friend from the hostel doesnt want to go so i end up leaving with both of them. Man those gringo hunters…i like them! You were right, it is fucking easy when youre around them and i didnt even have to buy her or her friend a drink.
We went back to their apartment and I went to the other ones room.we were fucking for a while (i had had a lot to drink and was finding it hard to finish off) when there was a knock at the door. It was her friend with the huge tits and the nice ass. She wanted to join us. I didnt say no. so i watched them fool around for a while until the friend started on me. She managed to get the job done so all was good. Great night.
My reply:
YOU ASSHOLE!!! maybe should have stayed with those chicks that sunday night!!! you lucky fuck, i hate you
I guess I’m glad Simon got a taste of immaculate (see Luck of the Irish? WTF post for context). The bad luck brought by the Irish heathens applies only to me and didn’t stop at losing my girl, apartment, and phone. It also rendered me with another killer case of diarrhea. It set in Monday after lunch. I was completely unproductive the rest of the week.
Before moving here, I always considered diarrhea no big deal. You have it, it leaves, and life goes on. Diarrhea down here is hell, characterized by 8 – 15 trips to the toilet in a day. As annoying as this is, it’s not the worst. The worst is the ass-pain you get from wiping your butthole raw with dry toilet paper all day every day.
The diarrhea prevented me from playing in Wednesday’s championship game against La Salle. Anita was there (whose number I lost when Rosa demanded her SIM card. The only way we would find each other was if she came to this game).
This was the deciding third game of the three-game series. I estimated 700 – 800 people in the stands. Before the game started, the La Salle superfan section dumped a ton of confetti onto the court. They’d done this before during a regular season game in which I started. As the refs were preparing for the jump, I asked one of them if they were going to clean up the confetti. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘What do you want me to do?’
This time there was a ton of confetti and La Salle was shooting on that end. Their players slipped in it a few times, prompting the refs to send some gophers for brooms and sweep while play was on the other end. We saw another tacky tactic of the La Salle superfans in the second half while we were shooting on that end. They threw spitballs and even small pieces of trash at the player on the free throw line. At a crucial shot in the fourth quarter, our guy Loco had a visible piece of trash in his hair as he squared up for the shot. Upon several complaints from our coach, the refs gave the same shrug they gave me – “What can you do?”
La Salle went ahead by a few baskets early and held on for the first quarter. In the second quarter, we came back and built a comfortable lead. Our lead got as high as about fourteen, leading by ten going into the fourth quarter. We were up eight with two minutes left. La Salle hit two lucky three-pointers in the last minute to close our lead to one, but with 1.33 seconds left. We held on for the 1.33 seconds without giving up any baskets and our superfans rushed the court.
News anchors with television cameras interviewed our coach and best players. There was mayhem. Then all the superfans and players formed a big ring with arms on shoulders. We sang some San Jose song. I was the only gringo and non-San Jose alumni that didn’t know the words. The ring filled the whole court. After the ten minute song, the youngsters and some players bum-rushed the center and started a mosh pit. Still sick, I wanted no part.
I noticed that La Salle’s superfans stuck around to watch our superfans celebrate. All the other spectators had left, so it seems that part of the tradition is to wallow in defeat by watching the arch-nemesis’ celebration in its entirety. The next day, Carlos – San Jose alumni himself – told me that this particular rivalry starts with some boys at the age of eight. In fact, I had noticed a group of youngsters about that age passionately cheering near our bench.
After the game, Anita and I made plans to hang out Saturday around 4. She arrived ten minutes early. We hung out in bed for a few hours. After getting out of bed and dressed, she did my laundry and cleaned my room. While Rosa made plans to do these kinds of things and announced it beforehand, Anita sneaks it in. I came out of the toilet to find her putting my clothes in the wash. After coming back from a drink of water, I found her cleaning my room. After finishing her chores, we went downtown and she treated me to pollo a la brasa (similar to rotisserie chicken, comes with fries).
Sunday I didn’t feel sick anymore but planned on taking it easy. Around 1pm, the bell rang. As always when I am not expecting anyone, I didn’t answer. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. It was Anita. She got to work ironing my shirts. While she did a good job, she worked very slow. After two shirts, I took her to my room to give her her payment. Afterwards, she told me she loves me. She put a necklace on me, a necklace with a charm featuring the letter ‘A’. As I was putting her in a taxi, she told me not to take it off until the next time we see each other. Back in the apartment, I set it on the nightstand. That’ll be the end of this one.
comments
Leave a Reply
