Alejandro Alejandro Ale Ale Alejandrrrrro

It’s Sunday night. And you know what that means! Oh. Maybe you don’t know what that means. Salsa! I suppose it’s understandable why you wouldn’t assume that Sunday night is a totally legitimate night to go out salsa dancing. I’m the weird one here. Not you.
After a night of debauchery and heavy drinking the previous night, my friends and I are content to suck down bottled water and be twirled around the dance floor. A slow salsa comes on and I find myself taking a break near the bar. A smoking hot latino man saunters up to me and says…

I feel good about recovering from that awkward moment so brilliantly as he leads me onto the dance floor. I can’t help but wonder: how many drinks had I consumed that made me forget this stunning man? His dancing was average but all is forgiven because he’s smoking hot. Have I mentioned he’s hot? No? Well he is. Oh, and his name is Alejandro. Yes, like the Lady Gaga song.
Alejandro texts me – side note, texting is a new and obnoxious development in dating that allows men to be even more cowardly – and invites me to join him and his friends at a Chilean reggae concert. Right on. I invite my friend Joy to come since I’m not sure if he likes me or if this is a date (I mean, hey, I’m out of practice – maybe that’s how the kids are doing it these days).
We arrive fashionably late, on latino time some might say, and are immediately transported to Central/South America. Not a single gringo in sight. So many brown men sporting “faux-hawks” it’s insane. It smells like beer and cigarettes. A dude actually tries to light a joint in the audience and he gets hauled away by a bouncer. Welcome to the United States of America.
The opening band is like Sublime – only all in Spanish and with a lead singer who has dreads literally down to his knees. I’m in heaven bopping around to the music and people watching… Alejandro is unabashedly dancing and stealing looks at me from time to time. Eventually he pulls me to where he is standing and we sway together for a bit. He smells dangerously delicious.
Not even halfway through the band’s first set, Joy leans in and tells me she has to leave by 10:15 pm. WHAT?! Why was this not discussed beforehand and why did we ride together then? Alejandro is visibly agitated when I tell him the bad news. I comfort myself in thinking I should leave him wanting more.
Walking out to the car I tell Joy I’m not sure if he likes me. She shoots me one of those ‘you’re an idiot’ looks and then proceeds to say “he wants to sleep with you.” Hot damn. To quote the illustrious Fergie: GIRL CAN’T HELP IT!