Anyway, we had a potluck dinner on Saturday at our instructor’s house. She lives with her husband in a far northern part of the city called La Moraleja, apparently the Beverly Hills of Madrid. The entire class was pretty much there, and we had a good time. Lots and lots o’ food and drink.
I was planning on going straight home afterwards to nurse my cold, but people convinced me to come out for at least a drink in central Madrid. So we went to this place that had a jazz band playing. Very shortly afterwards I got tired from the mellow darkness in there and peaced out, expecting to climb into my very small but comfortable bed at a reasonable hour and sleep the death-like sleep that I deserved after the grueling week.
As soon as I stepped foot in my apartment about 10 drunken people greeted me in the living room, immediately forced me into a chair, and shoved a lime and a shot of tequila at me. I’ve learned that I will never (conscientiously or no) turn down free alcohol. Apparently my Mexican roommate Berta was throwing a fiesta for her Venezuelan classmates. Suddenly we were playing drinking games, and people were asking me about New York, and Jesús was telling me his romantic life story, and La Vaca was teaching me slang, and Lorena was telling me she had just seen Yo La Tengo at McCarren Park Pool before it closed (!), and then Ricardo was falling asleep on the carpet.
At 6 in the morning, I watched as Jesus shakily poured another glass of whiskey, utterly amazed that with all the swaying he hadn’t managed to pour it all over the carpet. Or, really, that he hadn’t died by alcohol consumption by then. At 6:30 I dragged myself to bed. I’ve also learned that the best thing about throwing a party is that you are only meters from your bed on which you can just plop and pass out.