Translation Not Found: "Hangover"

I write you from my deathbed.

Ok, not really, but I can tell you I feel awful. Moments like these I wonder WHY I thought it was funny to ask for the "mas peor" rum the bartender had. My brain feels to big for my head and I wish I could make my insides stop moving.

What got me in this state, you ask? I made some friends! Yay, me! And they are all in their early twenties and then can all adjust to "Spanish time" easily and convinced me to go out on a school night resulting in Krista dragging her 33-year-old butt home at 5 am. (Soon to be 34-year-old butt! Consolations, spare Euros and gifts of peanut butter-related products can be sent to: Krista Meyer/ Calle del Hidalgo 2, 2A/ 18008 Granada/ Spain)

Anyhoo. I was doing what I do best here in Granada (wandering) and I ran into a girl from my class, Angela, and two other gals doing the same program as us, just at different levels. They were going for tapas and invited me along. This was a first! The tapas were crappy (potato chips? really?) but it was nice to have some people to talk to. Oh, and they were being really good and speaking only in Spanish but the kind of Spanish I speak, with lots of pauses and "um"s while trying to find the right word instead of the mile-a-minute Spanish my roommates expel. One of the girls (A mere 21 years old. Lordy!) and I started talking about music which led to discussion about a club she liked where some bands I like had played recently which led to her suggesting we all go to this club TONIGHT. I hemmed and hawed until I reminded myself that yes, I have to get up early tomorrow but I'm in Spain and this is a rare chance to socialize and dance and see some nightlife and pretend I'm in my 20's still!!!! So I said yes.

We started out at Alexandria's (the 21-year olds) for some good old fashioned pre-funking. We sat around her living room table * chatting and having some cocktails. We slipped into English once we exhausted our Spanish vocab. We left around 1am (so late! but so early here!) and after 20 minutes of Alexandria saying it's just up ahead, one more block, it's just around the corner, it's just over there... we found the club. It was packed with a strange mix of Spanish hippies (sans perros o flautes), Senegalese gigalos, gringa chicas like us and the kind of people you'd expect to see on Spanish "Big Brother". The music was great, though, and we boogied until 4:30 or so to a mix of funk, soul and dance. I learned that, much like Thailand, there is no toilet paper in Spanish clubs. Apparently it gets stolen. I hate drip drying. I also learned that pot is on the "no big deal" list here and likely received a contact high. Poor 21-year-old showed her age by getting too drunk, too fast and needed to be taken home.

I had the silly idea that I could sleep for two hours then get up for school at 7:30 but nooooooooo. My alarm may or may not have gone off and I may or may not have desperately scarfed one of every item in my cupboard to try to tame my tummy (would milk help? ok. hm. what about bread? bread is good, right? no? don't like that? how about a cookie? no? a slice of ham? that'll do it, right? lemon soda? jelly? work with me, here!)

I'm glad I went, though. I wish I had some pictures to share but... on the other hand... thankfully there is no proof of my patented Dance Moves To Make You Laugh. But I can tell you what I looked like when I woke up. (Not for the faint of heart...)



* Another weird Spanish thing: So, nobody seems to have central heat but they all have these heaters that go under your dining table. Then you drape a big fuzzy blanket over the table, drag it over to your sofa and sit, cooking your legs under the massive heat-tent. It's heavenly when you're cold, it's just... well... different. We have one in my apartment, too. I prefer to use my space heater to bake my legs while reading/studying/wasting time on the computer. It reminds me of my days at the office with my "not to code" heater blasting year-round. (Until Gwenn told me I could do permanent damage to my legs by "cooking" them and that those little red patches below my knees wouldn't go away if I kept it up.)