The Shower story
Calle Alcala in Madrid leads directly to Puerta del Sol, the center of the city. Right as you come into Sol as we called it, there on the left side of the street is the Hotel Paris. You'll see th giant horizontal sign, with the two stars at the bottom. And that is where we begin our story.
12 hours of flying-through Munich nonetheless-doesn't make anyone happy. It makes one jet lagged and pissy. Jet lag does wonders to me, I swear I get it terribly, even if it is just 1 or 3 hours. It hits me the second I land and it stays with me for 24 hours. None of that "try to stay awake as long as possible" shit. No, HB + bed = love. Also when I'm terribly tired, I tend to forget things (this also happens when I'm drunk or disgustingly happy). So if I forget somethings about that first night in Madrid, please forgive me.
I recall Paula hugging me upon my arrival. And that I shared a room with Angela and Marcela. I remember going out to dinner and exactly where we all sat that first night. Across from Josh. Two down from Thomas to my left and Jasamine to my right. Kat (blonde Kat not Kat/Jane Kat) sitting next to Josh. The sangria was flowing my friends. I was upset about being "forced" to go abroad and decided that my best recourse was to be drunk. Kat and Josh persuaded (persuaded the way I was forced to go abroad, ie not at all) me to go out. They had been in Madrid the semester before so I decided that since they were established they would a) make good friends if I ever learned to speak to people sober and b) they knew where they were going. So we headed out that night to Sol and to an area I didn't recognize again for three months.
We bar hopped like no other, losing people along the way until we ended at Havana Club around the corner from the hotel.
Now let me point out something here, I was upset and distraught and away from everything I knew. I could barely form a sentence in spanish and I thought that I would make no friends. I also thought that I was made of money since I drained my bank account on night one (it was downhill from there). So now I'm down to my last 40 euros and I'm rocked sipping on a mojito.
We return back to the hotel. I will myself to pass out because I have the spins so bad I'm afraid I'll throw up if I shut my eyes. The next morning I awake, hungover and decide that a shower would be the best option. As always I get in the shower and everything is ok. That is until I turn around and lean over to reach for something. Something happened just then. Maybe I was still drunk, who knows. But as I lean over, I lose my balance and reach out for the curtain rod, praying that it would keep me up. Does it? No. I continue to fall. Shower curtain and rod in hand I fall out of the shower. By out, I mean laying on the bathroom floor of a two star hotel on top of the shower curtain. Now what does one do in this situation? I laid there for a bit saying holy shit and managed to get back up, albeit I was very slippery.
I emerged from the shower to Angela and Marcela wondering what fell. I told them I dropped my shampoo, which they pretended to believe until I told them what happened three months later.
I can't believe I fucking fell out of the shower.