Vivà la Colombia

I have to confess, I love Latin culture. The Columbians in particular are some of the best people I've ever met. Such a warm and friendly group.

I went to a party last night that Smooth Like Butta's sort-of girlfriend was throwing at her place. Good time. There was a various mix of Columbians, Spanish, and British with a few oddballs like an American, an Argentine, an Italian, two South Africans and a Frog. Good people all round - most were part of the underground alternative artsy scene here in London - but a few had proper jobs (not that it matters - just an FYI). I really like Smooth Like Butta's quasi-girlfriend. Not only is she totally hot (think Trinity minus all the bondage gear), but she's smart and incredibly nice. If he doesn't commit to her, he's making a mistake. (Or, alternatively, she might not be the one for him, who knows.)

At any rate, one thing is 100% certain to happen when you hang out with a bunch of Columbians - salsa dancing. The night may not start that way, but it will get there, and no matter if you can or can't, you will dance and you will have fun. In fact, I'd have to say that I had so much fun that I want to take proper salsa lessons (as well as Spanish), or at least get the Columbian girl here at the house to teach me. Speaking of Columbian girls, I met a really nice one last night that I shall see again. She danced with me and taught me how and was patient, all very kind. But she's nice and I think I like her. That's the difference, of course, between meeting someone at a party and meeting someone in a club. We had a real conversation instead of a shouting match that exchanged no information other than name and country of origin.

One of Smooth Like Butta's mates from Columbia (Juan Pablo) is a totally hilarious guy. I've hung out with him before and he's great. Last week we were riding the same bus home from the club and he started chatting up these two Thai girls (ok, I admit, I started it but more on his behalf than anything). He was so focused on them that he missed his stop and when it was my stop, I told him I was getting off and that he should too, but he didn't. He told me last night that he had no idea where he was when it hit the end of the line and it took him an extra hour to get home from there. Anyway, he started calling me Pablo Escobar last night because I'm a nice guy on one hand, but I left him on that bus so I must have a mean streak. It was pretty damn funny at the time.

I didn't get home from the party until 7 am. Not exactly my plan, but I'm not complaining. We lost an hour with the time switch and I would have left much earlier except I was chatting up the cute Columbian girl and then spent about an hour trying to get Juan Pablo out of there since it was obvious that we needed to leave. All in all a good night. I didn't get drunk, I salsa danced, I met a cute girl, and I have no complaints. Well, a few more hours of sleep wouldn't be so bad. Speaking of which...