lunes, 25 de mayo de 2009

Party like it's 2009

Insanity. Sleeplessness. Creepocity.

I have been feverishly trying to gather my thoughts regarding a few night's out in Sevilla in the past week, and it's taken me this long to be fully ready and okay with everything I have to say. Sometimes, I'm not proud of my behavior, but then I realize I have no dignity so I don't really give a flying feck.

I don't know if it's impending departure or the arrival of summer people that has seemed to light a fire under all of SAS's asses, but everyone has been going out a lot these days. Whether we're trying to live up our final days in Spain or show the new people what's up, Sevilla nightlife has been the highlight of  my life for the past two weeks.  That's not to say I didn't go out this entire semester, but my newfound urge to go out nightly is definitely a new record. And for those of you achin' for a post about good, old fashioned creepin' on your dear friend Andrea, you're in luck.

It all started Tuesday night. After a delicious meal of tapas at Bar Rosita right near my house, we headed down to Fundicion. I usually despise of Tuesday nights, as Fundicion usually turns into a smoky room filled with 1 part American hos/Discover Sevilla groupies (for the most part; nobody from our group included), 1 part Calle Betis creepers from Spain, Morocco, or other country.  So yeah, I usually don't go out on Tuesdays to avoid this mess, but I went anyway because of the said fire lit under my ass.  It ended up being totes fun.  After watching Zach and Forest in an exciting round of Beer Pong, we all mingled.  Somehow, we ended up in our little circle right next to a group of crazy drunken Spanish guys.  One guy who was particularly blitzed, blodshot eyes and hot mess hair included, walked into me at some point and spilled his drink everywhere.  He then spent the next 5 minutes yelling at me, claiming that I had to buy him a new drink because I hit him and he dropped it.  No thank you.  I turned back to our group and started dancing, but his friends would not let go of the fact that I dropped his drink. Then, they just started talking a bunch of nonsense that I've since forgotten, probably inappropriate things in English that, while generally offensive, no longer phase me. Then, for some reason that I forget now, the one guy was like, "Can you come over here for a second?" I did. And in perfect, unbelievable and unpredictable creeper fashion, the group of 6 Spaniards circled around me in an unbreakable chain and just started humping me.  I wish I was joking. I was laughing so hard I was crying in the middle of the gang bang, and everyone else just watched.  Once I broke free, I thought it was over, but no; it happened AGAIN, and AGAIN everyone just stared.  Wow.  I guess I wasn't that mad about it, though, because I proceeded to take a picture with them.  But yeah, night 1. Creeper success.

Wednesday night, though, takes the cake on the creepiness that defines not only Sevilla since day one, but my luck with men in general.  First, though, I have to brag on myself a little.  We decided to hit up Casino, another sweet terrace bar, because it claimed to offer free consupmtion til 1:30. When we got there, we realized the frustrations of false advertising when free consupmtion only equated to one tinto de verano (half wine, half soda) or a beer. Lamesies. So, we ended up staying there only for a bit because of the aforementioned lameness. Right next door was another terrace party at the discoteca Bandalai. Now for the bragging part: There was an extremely long line outside of Bandalai, so I left my friends (Elizabeth, Olivia, Kathryn, Carolyn, etc) in line to check out what was going on in front. Being the cool and general genius that I am, I decided to use a little old trick called 'walking with intention'; I simply acted like I was part of a group of 5 spaniards and walked right into Bandalai without waiting when the bouncers let them in ahead of the line. Awesome, right? Well... awesome except for the fact that my friends were still in line and I had to wait a good 20 minutes for them to be let in. And I had to enjoy 'I'm on a Boat' actually being played by the DJ all alone. 

So yeah, once inside and on the terrace was when the fun began. Apparently, earlier in the evening, a huge brawl broke out in front of the doors of the club. Every bouncer left his post to break it up, creating a Jumanji-style stampede into the club. This explained the mass of people inside. I'm not kidding... you could barely move in there. And as they say, where there's smoke, there's fire; where there is a mass of people close, there are definite creepers breathing down your neck (don't know if that really works but go with it please). Within seconds, every Spanish guido, Saturday night fever wannabe, and general thug was looking in our direction. Whiffs of BO and cheap cologne surrounding us, we trapsed through the crowd to get a better view of the place. It's a pretty nice bar... lots of white couches and stuff. There was also a slutty girl dancing on top of this little stage in the middle of the dance floor, which we stared at for about an hour. We finally stopped at a little table in the middle of the "dance floor," which was really a conglomerate of caricatures of human beings. I'm telling you, people in Sevilla dress like nobody else I've ever seen. There is a new fad amongst young girls that I like to call 'Hammer Pants,' because they are exactly that: loose but tapered sweatpants at the bottom. Nice. Pair that with stilettos, a face so full of make-up that even Michael Jackson would pull out the remover pads, and a Marilyn Monroe face piercing, and you've got 50% of Sevilla down to a science. There was even a guy wearing a yellow cut-off t-shirt and matching headband who I named Hulk Hogan dancing in one of the little tents. I usually spend about 10 minutes everywhere I go people-watching and, subsequently, judging for this very reason. 

The first real exciting thing that happened was a bar fight that broke out between one dude who was clearly stoned out of his mind and a Spanish guy. I've never seen anyone get punched in the face before this, so that was awesome. The only bad part was being in the front row of the fight circle, because I did get a little drink spilled down my arm. Other than that, though, solid way to begin an evening.

The fight left a little clearing in the dance floor, so we took it and started to get our respective swerves on. I quickly noted a very special breed of creeper behind us. He was wearing a fully white suit with a pink polo. He also had Sam Eagle (of the muppets) eyebrows and glasses. Basically, he was nasty as hell, dancing like someone was electrocuting him. He started doing the point at me while he was dancing, and, in a stupid, thoughtless response, I pointed right back. BIG MISTAKE. I turned to Elizabeth in just enough time to say, "Remember that creeper from earlier?" when I felt an arm go around my shoulder. Dear God. I don't know if I eluded him in a Chuck Norris-esque escape tactic or if I simply convulsed enough for him to get the point, but he didn't linger for long. He did, however, keep staring, I guess hoping that by pointing at him in the heat of a song equated to me wanting to sleep with him. Sir... never.

Next up came another Spanish weirdo. This time, thankfully, he was a bit younger, but nonetheless gelled up and generally unattractive. Our dialogue went a bit like this (I am transcribing this word for word. Get ready for some hilarity):

"Como se llama?" - Him
"QUE?" - Me
"Como se llama?" 
"Oooh... no entiendo. No espanol." - Me (I thought this was a genius way to escape him)
"What...is...your...nayyyme?"
"FUCK"

Of course, everyone around burst out in laughter, but I didn't find it funny that my only escape tactic failed. I ended up telling him my name, and he acted all surprised that my name was Andrea and his was Andreu. After that I turned my back and just ignored anyone for the next hour because the first two were enough for anyone to handle in one week, let alone one night.

We mingled longer on the dance floor. Another unbelievable sight came in the form of a group of African guys standing in a line and choreographing their dance moves. It was unreal. I mean, they only had, like, the two-step with arm movements and things of that nature, but it looked cool. We tried to dance with them but got nervous. After seeing us hanging out near the black guys, this ASS HOLE came up to us and started talking to us/trying unsuccessfully to hit on us. When he realized it was going downhill, he started saying, "Oh, you like black cock?" or something of this nature. WOWWWWWWWWWW SIR. I was like, "No, but just because we don't want yours... STEP OFF." Uggh. Men are absolute pigs here. Sometimes, I can't wait to disappear back into obscurity in CH for this very reason.

The rest of the night really just consisted of watching people sneak into the dancer's box in the middle of the dance floor. Lots of girls in skirts got on it with little thought about the undergarments they were exposing (or not exposing) to the world. Eek. A personal highlight was the onslaught of gay men who took on the box (heh, the dancing box). From my experience, gay men are usually great dancers, and these guys fit the mold. Wow. I wanted to watch them all night, but sadly the bouncer started kicking everyone off of the box. By about 5 am, the smell of body odor was wafting towards us so strongly that nobody wanted to dance anymore. We headed home afterwards, sealing a great night with the thought that  we had no class the next day until 6:30.

The rest of the week consisted of Buddha (where I ran into a familiar face that I'd rather avoid... details if you're lucky enough to know the story of a certain king), running around Friday trying to find free drinks and failing, and Buddha again Saturday. Saturday night was a great one, but I can't really express my true feelings on this blog, as it might be read by those involved. All I can say is Olivia, Elizabeth and I are not only tanks, but lucky to have survived a ridiculous night surrounded by boys (note the lack of the word 'men'). So yeah, there it is. My life in parties. I sound like a socialite whore, but as my life stands at the moment it's not too far off base. Expect more stories as my time in Sevilla winds down, and as I visit such marvels as London, Barcelona, Madrid & Amsterdam. 


Hasta luegoooo

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