One of my most favorite things to do back home is to have girls’ nights. It sounds hokey and exclusionary, but sometimes you just need a night with your lady friends: eating junk food, gossiping & discussing romantic interests, watching movies & maybe getting drunk while you’re at it.
Moreover, I have a general tendency to get along better with males than females. My core group of female friends, for the most part, has been with me for a long time, and quite frankly, it’s hard for other girls to come close (though, I will admit, some definitely have!). There are also many traits I see in female behavior that drive me absolutely bonkers, hence why I have a lot of male friends.
HOWEVER, I truly believe it is absolutely necessary (for me) to have girls’ nights. Living at 2468 in good ol’ Riverwest with Kristin and Anai, we had many nights like these, and they are some of my fondest memories about living in that house. Luckily for me, my best lady friend here in Spain, Miri, is basically exactly the same way, which is a large part of why her and I understand each other well. And now I’ve set the scene for my story.
Two weeks ago, it was a chill Friday night in Valverde del Camino. Cinty, who lives in Huelva but who has been dating a boy here in Valverde for about three years, was in town, and her, Miri and I spent a large part of the afternoon together. We sat at my dining room table, eating fresh, warm castañas (“chestnuts”) - my first time - and candies from the local penny candy store, talking and laughing the hours away. On our way to the peña later on, we were conversing about having a girls’ night, since we had had so much fun during the day together. And all of a sudden, it hit us: why not tonight?
We informed the boys of our plan and set off to the grocery store to pick up all the essentials:
These girls knew exactly what we needed to have a proper girls’ night Spanish style. I couldn’t help but giggle in my head the whole time, because although what we bought wasn’t what we buy at home, all of it made perfect sense for what Spaniards would want at at a night of this style. (And yes, your vision is fine; we did buy four bottles of wine for three girls. But we only fully drank two of them. The third was opened yet unfinished, and the fourth was not even touched.)
Post-grocery store, we walked the goods back to my apartment, and Cinty and Miri headed to their houses to grab their sleepover essentials. Meanwhile, I prepped my apartment for their arrival: washing dishes, setting up the computer to watch scary movies on, changing into my PJs and so on and so forth. When they arrived back at my apartment, we ended up having quite the feast. Frankly, I think our eyes were bigger than our stomachs.
As we ate, Miri showed me photos and videos of past parties with all of the peña, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. If there’s one thing the Spaniards know how to do it’s having a good time always. Also, they have a panache for throwing surprise parties a lot for people’s birthdays. (I make note of this, because no one has ever thrown me a surprise party, and selfishly, I’ve always wished they would. AND it’s likely I won’t be here in Spain for my birthday next year, so I don’t think my Spanish friends will get an opportunity to do it.) The best part, perhaps, was after the fact when all the boys were wicked embarrassed I had seen these videos of them super hammed, but they were good sports about it.
Thanks to a noisy downstairs neighbor, we soon thereafter pumped up the jams and had ourselves a dance party, as well as a photo shoot in Photo Booth on my computer. This includes, but is not limited to, the following photo and a video of us dancing to “Gangnam Style” in its entirety, which will not see the light of day on this blog.
Once we could dance and pose no more, we shut off all the lights, cozied up and popped in “The Blair Witch Project.” (Dubbed into Spanish with English subtitles, hilarious.) I had, surprisingly, never seen this movie back in the States, and I have to admit that I was positively frightened. I never willingly chose to watch a scary movie by myself, but if I’m with other people who want to, I will. I guess if I had to choose a ‘type’ of scary movie I prefer, it would be a psychological thriller, like this one, because to me, they have more substance.
Almost directly after finishing the movie, a knock came at my apartment door. Besides the fact that this scared us half to death, given the movie we had just watched, it was also almost 3:00AM. We figured it had to be Hermes or Jesus and the boys coming to give us a fright, since they were aware of our plans for the evening. Boy were we wrong. Cinty and I stayed put on the sofa, while Miri went to go see who it was. And now comes the story that has been told more times than I count in the past two weeks ever since it happened.
Standing at my door, much to Miri’s surprise, was a man in calzoncillos rojos de Papá Noel (“red Santa Clause boxers”). And nothing else. In what she describes as a very bizarrely poetic and proper form of Spanish, the man told her he’s my downstairs neighbor (which is not true; he’s just sleeping with the woman who lives below me and owns my apartment) proceeded to ask her if we had a Cruzcampo (the most well-known Spanish beer here in the southern region of the country) he could have. Miri said no. He proceeded to say that they had heard noises up here, so they thought there might be people who would have a beer for them. Miri said no again, that we were watching a movie and that’s what they heard. He proceeded to shoot off a quick apology for disturbing us and went on his way.
We immediately shut and locked all the doors and windows in my apartment even though there was no imminent danger; it was more so to gossip about what had just happened with less chance of them hearing us. Somehow the bottom door to my apartment, the one that opens up to the stairway up to my unit, was unlocked. I guess I forgot to lock it after Cinty and Miri came over. Never well I make that mistake again. Once the man was back in the bottom apartment, all we could hear was my neighbor yelling at him. I learned (of course, only after signing my lease for this apartment) that the woman who lives below me, the owner, is one of the town drunks. Apparently, she went to the main plaza in town, which is right around the corner from our house, totally and utterly naked and shouting. (Sad I missed that spectacle.) She also is not let into many bars around here, because she’s notorious for coming in, drinking and then not paying, with the excuse that she has no money on her.
But the story doesn’t end there, folks. Nobody wanted to sleep alone after watching that movie and having that man come to the door, so we dragged the other matresses in my apartment into my bedroom and proceeded to sleep in the same room, in true girls’ night fashion. At 8:00AM that morning, we were all peacefully sleeping when Miri’s alarm clock on her watch went off. I probably heard it and just rolled over and went back to sleep, and Cinty didn’t stir. Miri, however, did wake up, regretting not turning off the alarm before going to bed, when out of nowhere she hears the very obvious sounds of my neighbor and the man in the red Santa Clause boxers ‘having relations.’ Truly, the icing on the cake.
And so completes my story of the first of what I’m sure will be (and I hope will be) many noches de chicas.