Studying abroad for a semester is like being a freshman again, but everyone can legally drink. Your big may not be there to hold back your hair, but your standards chair isn’t trying to pull you off that elevated surface. You don’t have to worry about your reputation following you back home, because even if these things could follow you home, no one on your exec board can speak the language.
8 p.m.: “Let’s get drunk” message received from the only other sorority girl in your program. Porque no?
9:26 p.m.: I’m lying in bed, scrolling through Instagram, wondering what my pledge sisters really did in Panama City. Oh my goodness, there’s my little. Kidding, I don’t want to know what happened.
10:15 p.m.: My host mom just came in and yelled at me. I have no idea what she said to me, so I just smiled and apologized. I should have spent less time flirting and more time learning with my Spanish tutor.
11:13 p.m.: Why is it always raining here? Should I pay to take the bus or save my money to buy more tinto de verano?
11:16 p.m.: I immediately regret walking. And curling my hair.
11:42 p.m: I’m the only sober person here and my makeup is smeared. Two glasses of sangria, por favor!
11:50 p.m.: They bought tapas. I will not eat the cute, little cheesy sandwiches. Or the fries. Or the freshly baked bread. Why didn’t I invite Brittany out? She always wants to steal my food.
12:20 a.m.: Let’s go to the Irish pub, where people speak English.
12:32 a.m.: This is not a pub. Wait–they have chocolate tequila? This must be what heaven feels like.
12:55 a.m.: Finally, we go to the Irish bar and half my program is here. Someone is buying shots of Jameson. To Spain! And Ireland! And every other country that has a lower drinking age than America.
1:45 a.m.: I’m not going to the club yet. No one will be there. Oh, there is an open bar until two? I’m never going home.
2:07 a.m.: Dancing on tables is so freeing! I’m gonna snapchat my president. She’d be so proud.
2:25 a.m.: My big just sent me a “be careful” message. Apparently, I sent that snap to the entire chapter, including standards. Whoops.
2:32 a.m.: Why do they not have toliet seats? Or soap? Or toliet paper? I just can’t even right now.
2:45 a.m.: THIS IS MY JAM. “Yeah” by Usher just played. In English. I don’t know if I’ve been this happy in months. Where are my friends? More importantly, where is my drink?
2:49 a.m.: Why does this guy keep touching my face? I need my personal space, brochacho. I cannot even tolerate this, knowing that the Spanish do not buy drinks for women.
3:01 a.m.: I just need to dance with a cute stranger who won’t touch my face. Ugh, all these guys are such awkward dancers. Only a DFMO will kill the awkward right now.
3:12 a.m.: Finally escaped piranha tongue. I need some fresh air. Please don’t follow me.
3:15 a.m.: Take a hit of a joint? Is that not a cop right there? Well, when in Rome…
3:42 a.m.: “Kebab King in 10!” text.
3:57 a.m.: A group of guys starts heading toward me, shouting, “Rubia! Rubia!” And to think I was excited to move to a country where I was considered exotic. Where is my bus pass?
4:05 a.m.: Kebab King is closed for another hour. Why do they not have Taco Bell here? How am I supposed to survive in the rain and the cold while hungry? I send my roommate a “Wher R yooo” text.
4:09 a.m.: She’s back at the pub and she’s dancing on a table. OMG, she just fell. Well, at least I can make her split a cab home with me.
5:45 a.m.: Nothing can make you forget hungry quite like hard cider and Beatles karoake. My roommate is no longer standing on her own, but we both agree it is shwarma time.
6:04 a.m.: This is the best shwarma I’ve ever had. I think my roommate is passed out on the counter. I wonder if she’ll notice if I steal her kebab.
6:22 a.m.: I think our taxi driver is taking us in the opposite direction of our house. Is our Spanish that bad, or is this the beginning of “Taken 3”?
6:50 a.m.: Home for five minutes and my alarm goes off. I have class in an hour. No pasa nada. The coffee here is stronger than Starbucks.
Nice Move254
Respond
onlyprettier1873
Born in the North, but raised south of the Mason-Dixon line and currently trying to navigate European life where Comfort Colors and Lilly Pulitzer are not a thing. She leans on her littles, Jesus, and wine when she "can't even."
@rissajune
@rissajune
