Quiet. That’s the way I’d describe the way the trip started. Me and my big brother (along with some friends of his) decided to visit a small beautiful town two hours away from here (it’s called Comillas, if you were wondering). In complete silence, it was just him and I on our way over there; early 2000’s songs were the only sound that kept us from hearing crickets.
Once we got there and met the rest of the people… Well, let me just tell you this entry was initially about the glory and sanctity of alcohol. A couple of drinks helped me go through being a social retard to the adorable snowflake you know I am; and that was just while we were chilling (ugh… I’m definitely not the kind of girl who says ‘chilling’) on our hotel.
When we hit the town (I should stop with the clichés) my brother started a tequila-shot competition with a friend (you already know they both regretted it the very next day); I, on the other hand, was dancing as if I was actually good at it. Well, I must have been doing something right, since I caught the attention of a group of guys. After dancing for a while with a dude who was young and not bad looking (pretty much my only standards when I’m drunk) he asked me where I was from, when I answered Mexico he became the definition of facepalm. Before I could wonder if this guy was some kind of jerk, he shoved his tongue down my throat.
We made out, and we made out hard. When I came out for air I noticed my brother wasn’t that far away from me; he looked right back, and with a very drunk smile on his face he offered my make-out partner a shot of tequila.
A couple of minutes later I gave ‘my guy’ a quick “Gotta go, see ya!” and left the place right behind my group. One of the girls (who was drunk, of course) asked my brother if he had a problem with what went down just then which he answered “I guess she knows what she’s doing”; the reason why I’m telling you this is not that, is the hilarious answer he got in response from the same girl:
“¡Cuando yo tenía 20 años follaba y mamaba como tu puta madre!”
(“When I was 20 years old, I fucked and sucked like your whorish/fucking mother”)
The third night there… Yeah, I’m not even mentioning the second one because there' are just very few good stories that start with “Once, I was so hangover…”. It started just like the first night, actually, it was pretty much the same, up until the point where I met another guy at the club. This time the place wasn’t so crowded and loud, we got the chance to talk and not make out. After a while I needed to go the bathroom (one of the many wonderful things you can blame alcohol for), when I finished I reunited with my original group. My brother smiled at me and yell:
“What a champion you are!” lift my arm up to the air while he turn to look at his girlfriend “Hey! Took a picture of me with the champ!”
Quiet. That’s the way I’d describe the way the trip ended. On our way back it was, again, just me and my brother in complete silence… No, not really. This time there was this short conversation that lasted for about a minute.
“What are you thinking about?” He asked.
“I’m getting a zip right here” I point to chin “You see?”
“Deep thoughts you have”
“Well… What were you thinking of?”
“That we’ll have to do some research over the internet about the the history and architecture of this town… So we have something to tell mom and dad about”