A la discoteca!

Last night was crazier than even I could have expected.  It started out with the usual, hash and beer in the park, but then my friends were going somewhere, and instead of parting, I went with them, down the rabbit hole.  We started a party at one of their apartments which makes every party I've ever been to tame by comparison.  There weren't a ton of us, but the room was thick with smoke, and people were passing around beer and whiskey and vodka, and the hash was more plentiful than cigarettes in America.  Then they started passing around a tray of cocaine, of which I did not partake.  In my new friends defense, only about half of them did coke, and the rest criticized it, and when one of the guys there I don't know offered me the tray everyone freaked out and jumped out of there seats they were so pissed off at him.  My friends certainly have their vices, but they are good people, and they always look out for me.  They prepared tons of traditional Spanish foods and forced me to eat until I thought I might throw up.  Some was strange, but most of it was delicious, and I am glad they taught me how to make it.  Then we set out for a bar, which I definitely didn't need.  At the bar they got shots of tequila for everyone, and then we went to the discoteca.  Nothing can compare.  America does not know what a dance club is...  The was a massive dance floor, tons of lights and music you could barely hear yourself over, and I saw at least four different bars in the discoteca.  My friends ordered San Franciscos for me, which were absolutely delicious, but again, completely unnecessary.  I realized that I was already way more drunk than I should have let myself get, and I knew that the cup of whisky they poured me at the house probably hadn't even hit me yet, so I went to the bathroom and made myself throw up.  Not glamorous, but I'm glad I did or I don't know how much longer I would have been conscious.  After that I stayed away from the drinks, even though it was hot as hell in the discoteca, and I was wearing a really warm shirt, not knowing when I put it on how the night would go.  All these boys kept trying to dance with me, but I pushed them off because I didn't want my friends to know I'm gay, because if they don't take it well I am absolutely alone.  But then I wanted to have a little fun, so I pushed to the opposite side of the dance floor and danced with the most gorgeous Spaniard you can possibly imagine.  He kept avoiding me, so I would turn to find other prey, but then his friends would come up to me and tell me that he is shy and that I should keep dancing with him.  Don't ask me how I talked to his friends in this state, I could barely stand, but with the loose inhibitions it seemed my Spanish improved by the minute.  I was an absolute joke, I'm sure.  I kept falling on the ground and then turning it into a dance move to get up with my dignity intact.  Eventually I returned to my friends and danced with them until we left.  I asked them what time it was, once we were on the street and could actually talk again, and was shocked to discover it was six in the morning.  I danced pretty much nonstop for six hours.  I tried to return to my friends house where I am staying, but he didn't answer the door (probably because I rang the wrong bell, everything is so different here).  I was drunk and exhausted so I went to sleep in the park my friends and I hang out in.  Today I went to the same house where the party was, and yet again, a party, but this one was to watch the football (soccer) game where Barcelona was in the finals.  Most of the people there had to work in the morning, so it was much more subdued.  Anyway, my Spanish improves daily, but this is more stressful than I could have imagined.  I think I tend to gloss over the negative things that happen when I talk to people, but they are many.  At least so far though, the good outweighs the bad, so I try to be hopeful.  I miss home every day.