1) When he was grilling and talking to me and this one (white) (married-to-a-Brazilian) (STEM professor) who was standing there, all of a sudden, he was like, "Oh no oh no oh no!", and he lifted the lid of the grill, and a lot of the meats were on fire, as well as some of the hamburger buns that were there toasting, too.
"I know why you did that," I was like, as he started grabbing meats off the grill and trying to extinguish the fire on all of them.
"Why?", he was like.
"Because it's an expression of your culture," I was like, and I put on a voice. "I'm black, and I'm proud, so now, all of your food is black."
(He's [Afro-Brazilian].)
And, I mimicked little flames rising off the grill by making plucking motions with my fingertips, going pssh, pssh, pssh, with each little flame that I mimicked arising from the food.
"See, I'm black, and I'm proud."
"Why do you have to be such a bitch," he was like.
2) Later, when I was telling him and some (Brazilians) about how my cottage recently suffered a break-in attempt at like 4am and someone was trying to get into my front door and I had to call the police, one of his (Brazilian) colleagues was like, "American houses scare the shit out of me," and he said that in Brazil, you have walls and fences and bars, but here you have nothing, and he always feels so exposed to intruders.
3) Later later, the one (gay) (Brazilian) (STEM post-doc) who I know was saying that feijoada is both the name of the pork stew and the name of the party, and that it's a famous party food in (Brazil), because (Brazil) is a poor country, and so you can always add more water to the stew if more people end up coming over.
"Or you can do that if you can afford meat, but someone burns it," I was like.
4) Later later later, after the party, we went out briefly to go hear a band play at a local bar, and when the one (gay) (Brazilian) (STEM post-doc) who I know got home, his backdoor was unlocked, and he texted me all in a dither because he was drunk and high and he was scared by my recent break-in, and even though he might have left the door unlocked -- he wasn't sure, because he was drunk and high -- now he was afraid that someone was inside, and no-one else was home at the house that weekend, since everyone else who lived there was out of town.
"Please come and help me," he was like. "I'm scared, and you did it."
So, I came back over, and he held a broom and he gave me a grilling fork, and while he stayed by the back entrance I swept each floor in turn, the ground floor and then the basement and then the second floor.
And, while we were in the last bedroom on the second floor, I was like, "Wouldn't it be scary if a hand reached out from under the bed right now and grabbed my ankle, and I had to start stabbing it with the fork?".
Also, when we were downstairs in the kitchen and he was eating stew and then some Kit Kat ice cream directly out of a big container, and I was eating a little, too, I was like, "I wonder if you'll be somewhere in the house tonight, and someone drops off the ceiling onto you."
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