Mending bridges with Jesus.

That same night I also tried to mend bridges with Jesus, after he got pissed at me like a month ago for trying to speak Spanish at him all the time.

("How would you like it," he said, "if I went around saying HELLO SIR HELLO SIR, HOW ARE YOU, HOW ARE YOU all the time? I am telling you, you cannot, uh-speak, eh-Spanish!" ... "But I did well enough for you to understand me," I was like." ... That was the same night that after rude service by the bartender this hipster bar that he and the Catalan like, he turned to the Catalan and was like, "?Que polla, eh?", and I was like, "Hey Jesus, did you just call the bartender a dick? Be careful, people can understand you." ... That was also the same night that the Catalan turned to me and was like, "Why are you always saying 'JE-sus', when it is 'Je-SUS'?")

"Hey, how are you doing?", he was like, when he saw me in the bar.

"Good," I was like. "But I thought our friendship was dead" (and I wanted to theatrically add, "or, should I say - muerte" - but I didn't).

After that, we talked a bit about this and that, and I kept making fun of him about getting pissed off at me for speaking Spanish when I was just trying to show hospitality, which he took good-naturedly.

Finally, at the end, I was theatrically and nauseatingly magnanimously like, "And I wonder, Jesus, where has the magic gone? Indeed, I wonder, can we ever again be friends, or, dare I say -" -and at that I stopped for a sec and leaned in confidentially and looked him straight in the eye, seriously - "amigos?".

Right away at that I began laughing maniacally and he grimaced but didn't get on me, so I think we're friends again.