I get so vomitastically tired of earnest travel books and blogs--you know, "We went here; it was beautiful," "We visited there; it was breaktaking," "We saw X, site great tragedy Y; it was poetic." aaack!--so it was with a nasty "thank friggin' god" that I read missmimesis's Nerve.com diary. A straight girl and her gay friend prowl Buenos Aires looking for clubs, boys and really good coke. Honestly, good clean fun doesn't come any better than this. And here, an except:

Eventually, late in the night, a very short – almost microscopic – boy in a white t-shirt and black came up to me and started talking and said to me, in an extremely loud and high-pitched voice that can only be described as a screech: “Are you gay?”
“No…”
Still screeching, “Is your friend gay?” This is a very conventional question in Buenos Aires.
“Um, yeah.”
At that point he grabbed me and started making out with me. I didn’t really respond but also didn’t really resist. It lasted a few minutes and then he screeched, “See you later” and started to walk away. I figured it was worth a try: “Do you know where to get pills?”