When the pre-func turned into the func

Friday, March 16^th, 2012

As you’ve probably noticed in my entries, I tend to have a different outlook on partying, compared to most other people my age. It’s not that I judge them in the sense that I think alcohol is bad (I drink too) or that I’m secretly jealous that they’re “cooler” than me. It’s just that I really fail to see how drinking copiously or otherwise intoxicating yourself all the time can be that much fun for years and years of your life—especially in a bar or club. Trust me, I’ve had some wild nights and I do like to imbibe, but I much prefer to party at a friend’s house where I know everybody and there’s space for talking, walking, playing games, etc—especially because I’m all about the conversation when I’m drunk. Bars are fun, but for the most part I don’t understand the outrageous prices, I can barely hear anybody even if they’re right next to me, and I really don’t like to be surrounded by groups of obnoxious idiots that I don’t know. Especially drunk, screaming girls. I can’t handle it. I would go out more to the clubs if I could just dance, but it never happens that a girl can dance by herself in a club. So, you see my dilemma. Instead of asking me to go to a bar, ask me to a house party and I’ll happily go and show you how I can have a good time.

But this Friday night, I was finally convinced that I needed to go out to a bar and see if it was worth the fuss and maybe just let off a little steam. The plans were set and I had my token bottle of New Age ready to go to prefunc at my house (because like I said, I’m not gonna spend $7 for one drink). Two glasses of wine later, I was starting to really feel it and I was starting to doubt if my friends were at the same bar and nobody seemed to be sending and receiving texts, so it was a lost cause. Around midnight I decided I wasn’t in the mood to take a bus by myself to this bar and stay out until 5 am. So Juan poured himself a beer and we turned the pre-func into the func.

For the next 3 hours, we talked about life. Really. I don’t know how else to describe it. We seemed to cover every topic from stupid to serious, simple to complicated. Somehow I managed to keep up and express myself properly. Maybe this is how it feels to flirt with fluency. You can’t give too much credit to a drunken conversation past midnight, but at the same time, this is what you lack in a bar. Maybe it’s weird that I was drinking and chatting with my host “dad”, but keep in mind he’s only turning 29 this year. And come on, everybody wants to party with their host family because that’s the crazy thing to do.

I felt really bad about seemingly “ditching” my friends, but I feel like I do this all the time in the US, too. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at Delt when I’m done here!” 3 hours later, I’m still talking to somebody I walked by in the hallway…oops. And that’s celebrated in Argentina. Obviously nobody likes getting ditched and people are bound to get mad if you never show up to things that you say you will attend…but at the same time, here, you don’t just end a conversation because there’s something else on your agenda. You’ll get to it when you get to it, and nobody feels guilty about it, whereas in the US, if we talk for an extra hour, we feel stressed because now we’re an hour behind, whereas here, it’s just a dent in the continuum of time that exists. There’s been several times where I was really late for something because I was chatting with my host family, or I had to stay up late finishing homework because the sobremesa after dinner lasted for 2 hours, but I don’t care. I can’t think of a time where after a conversation I felt like it hadn’t been worth it. Sure there’s a bunch of “talkers” here that talk without saying anything, but for the most part, I’m very intrigued by what people have to say—especially my host family. And all of it is practice for me. A practice in listening, responding, speaking, learning and processing—in Spanish. Not only that, but it’s a way to get to know others, myself and the culture.

Party stories are fun, but after the tenth one (or the first one ten times…) are they really that interesting? Yes, they do make good souvenirs sometimes, but I’d rather fill my hypothetical suitcase with something different. Its contents are found here, in this blog…