I received some great news the other day in the form of an email from my former boss. It turns out that a prospective client told him that she will only sign with the company if I receive my commission even though I am not employed - an attestation to our great rapport and the work I put in. I'm sure boss man was red with fury, but the deal is massive and will provide a substantial boost to my nonexistent income so fuck him. Given this windfall and an amazing 6-0 win by Real Madrid to end the year - a match I attended with my pops - I found no reason to turn down an invitation from my French pal, Laurent, to attend a birthday party for his Dominican homey Edu. I twisted up a spliff (gave up looking for my stash), left my house around 1am and got off the Metro at Alonso Martinez and walked to Edu's house.
Melia's other/ghey boyfriend
Hala Madrid! Que bote el Bernabeu!
No one had told me but this party had a theme: American Prom Party. There were tiaras, pom poms, prom dresses, jocks, preps and geeks. The jocks wore Marino, Armstead, and Marbury jerseys. The preps were complete with bleached white shirts, red ties and blue sweater vests. The geeks rocked tight jeans, pocket protectors and classic tape on their glasses. To complete the American diaspora was a beer pong table to my delight. The sign read "Beer Pong Campionship" and the Spaniards honestly sucked pretty bad at this game. The rules were tight though and called for one of the cups to be filled with liquor and other than no bounces, they were identical to traditional Beirut. I said what up to Laurent, his girlfriend Carolina, and Edu, then rushed over to the Beerpong table to regulate. They smelled a ringer immediately and I had not had a drop to drink before getting to the party so I was killing it. The third game I played was close mostly because I had cooled off and my partner was still lacking any skills whatsoever. It came down to one cup each and it just so happened the cup I was shooting in contained liquor. I felt really confident because I have been in that situation all too often: drank too much in a short period of time and my motor skills are struggling, but fully capable of pulling it together for one money shot to end things with a W instead of puking. The Spaniards drank both cups.
Walking away from the Beer Pong table I ran into a guy wearing a fake tattoo sleeve, a Marshall amps shirt, long brown wig, plad shirt tied around his grey jeans, and army boots. I realized I hadn't seen a tattoo since leaving Portland and that the hipsters there wouldn't take kindly to this guy's fggt tattoo sleeve.
Right past the dance floor is a table full of alcohol. In Spain, party guests customarily bring a bottle of liquor to the party; the only reason I think this party had any beer was for beer pong. I made myself a Gin and Fanta Limon and Laurent introduced me to his "geek" buddy Ricardo who probably had the best costume at the party. Ricardo just got back 3 days ago from a trip around the world. He quit his job and bought around the world tickets with his girlfriend including 16 destinations with all the dates flexible. He said it only cost €16,000 each and that flights from Asia to Oceania are super cheap - €400 round trip from Nepal to Sydney. He said that Southeast Asia was tits and recommended Vietnam and Thailand to me. The best part of his story is that his company offered him his old job back as soon as he returned to Madrid 3 days ago.
As we are talking and sharing a spliff a chill dance circle forms around us. In this circle is this girl who keeps giving me the celebrity treatment - trying to look but not make eye contact as she dances next to me. Maybe she was just shy, but this makes me a little uncomfortable because I only have eyes for my baby girl in Portland. I guess this is how girls feel when they are uninterested or have boyfriends and guys keep hounding them. This girl may be shy but she is persistent and inches over slowly. I hear the lyrics "tonight's gonna be a good night" over and over and I keep thinking to myself - not for you girl, sorry. See under other circumstances I would have indulged and danced with her but I was trying to save myself the awkwardness and rudeness it would have taken to walk away from her later. It also did not help her cause that I had just masturbated twice before cumming to this party while Ichatting with my temptress girlfriend in my grandma's laundry/computer room. I had no patience nor interest and just realized that I had not even washed my hands. You feel kind of bad when you just JO'd, didn't wash your hands, and shake hands with guys. Not girls btw, they love the smell and taste of that shit yall! In fact that's probably what was alluring her. I decided that no one here was a big enough doosch to deserve Sailor palm so I went to the bathroom to wash up. I was wrong...
Leaving the bathroom, in the main foyer there are 2 girls and 2 guys trying to calm down a skinny guy holding an American football, wearing beige canvas shoes, and a Bengals jersey. His name is Pau and his name is being repeated over and over to try and get through to him "Pau! Pau! Pau!". Hella funny. This really is an American college party I think as I make my way past Pau through the dance floor and back to the alcohol table. I mix a Bacardi and Fanta Limon, throw in some melted ice, and think about all the goofy pre-fights I've witnessed at parties between two drunk idiots trying to flex. In reality they are ALWAYS crying either for help or for attention because no real beef can really exist between two complete strangers.
I go stand next to Laurent who is playing with the coolest gadget I have seen in a while. It's a circular object with a concave middle that changes multitudes of colors as you scream into it or put your hand into it. It is sitting on a bookshelf on the wall of the dance floor. This is highly entertaining at this point in the evening as we both take turns screaming into it, like a microphone to the beat of the music. "Po Po Po, Pau Pau Pau, Brick Brick Brick!" then air scratching and watching the thing change colors on cue every time you pull your hand in and out.
I finish my drink and head back for a refill. Somehow more Bacardi and Fanta had showed up at 5:00am...
<3 ¡Madrid yall! <3
In the kitchen I find an opened 4.5L bottle of Whisky! It's called William Lawson and is the largest whisky bottle I have ever seen. I pour myself a glass over ice and see another unopened bottle on the ground. Jesus! 6L of alcohol in the kitchen alone, I don't think this party will end in the traditional American style of nothing left to drink. We need a fight to break out in the second most popular ending for a Frat party, a fight. Where's that negga Pau? I think.
Coincidentally I happen across Pau's would-be-opponent. He's a short French guy wearing a tutu with another French guy hanging all over him trying to get him riled up. Homeboy in the tutu is saying it's all good and there's no need to fight, Pau is just drunk. His instigating friend keeps saying "Et Alors?! Et Alors?!" which means so WHAT?! This is usually the sign of a bad friend - encouraging you to fight and putting you in danger over some bogus insignificant shit - as if you have to fight to prove your worth to your friend. I say what up en Francais to ease the tension and tell them both how I used to have a huge crush on Vanessa Paradis until I saw her Martina-Hingis-looking-alien-forehead - or better yet fivehead in direct sunlight. I'm just engaging these guys I have nothing against Vanessa for the record.
I make one last drink of whisky and what I think is an alternative to Fanta Limon, but is instead lemon juice... this shit is terrible! I say peace to Lolo, Caro, and Edu and I hear cries of "Pau! Pau!" again as I'm walking to grab my coat from the bedroom. Someone awoke the sleeping giant. As I'm squeezing out of the bedroom door into the kitchen I knock over a black stool full of drinks -the fullest being my Whiskey/Lemon juice- that go splashing all over the kitchen floor. It's really time to get out of here.
I take the stairs instead of waiting in the elevator with a bunch of fhags and hit the call button on each floor as I run down. A mean-spirited juvenile act for sure but I'm running down these steps in pitch black light and if karma really wanted I could've easily eaten shit, if I deserved it, for my shenanigans.
Pretty epic evening in Madrid minus the past and future JO. Buenas Noches!
