Madrid has plenty of excellent qualities, I think I've made that pretty clear throughout the creation of this blog, which nonetheless is sadly coming to a close pretty soon. I have only about two weeks left before I fly home so my friends and I are striving to make the most of each tick of the clock that we have left here.
On this past Friday, the 10th, Melanie, Taylor, and I left the residence hall at midnight to seek out the club known simply as Penelope, where our international student org had advertised that there would be a paint party.
I've only been to one such clubbing experience and it was in Chicago with a big group of amazing friends just last year, sometime during the beginnings of the spring semester. The memory of that night is one giant rainbow of paint--so much paint, shooting through the air, girls with enormous paint guns standing on the stage and pumping multi-colored awesomeness through the air, dousing everyone. My hair, by the end of that incredible night, resembled a helmet of crusted paint of every color imaginable, a twin to that of my friend Kelsie, the only other girl in our big group. Absolutely worth it, of course. The paint washes out very easily and I actually felt pretty disappointed when it washed completely out of the white v-neck that I'd bought for the occasion hoping that it would be entirely destroyed by paint and therefore make an excellent souvenir of the night.
That's not quite what happened. The only sign of that shirt having gone through some tremendous clubbing experience is that somehow, through some magical chemical reaction or other, both armpits were permanently dyed pink. Perhaps the sweat combined with the paint and somehow ended up in my armpits, amalgamating into this rosy-hued blotch of a hybrid of the two. Science may never know.
The point here, folks, is that THAT was a paint rave and I cannot wait to try that again once I'm home.
Madrid, at least in this instance, fell to second place. Instead of the paint being shot from all directions such that any slightly reluctant participants could not hold onto even the tiniest sliver of hope of escape, the staff at Penelope handed out small tubes about the size of a tube of Carmex to random people in the club, including Melanie, whereupon everyone decorated themselves and their friends. And then went off to find victims to smear.
While this was no doubt an interesting variation and while I give Penelope credit for the glowing paint and the black lights, a nice effect overall, I have to give Chicago the blue ribbon here. When I went out, much fun as I had with my chicas, I was counting on being soaked in paint to the point of being unrecognizable to even my roommate.
Ahh well. The night was still an excellent one: the drink of choice for the three of us was vodka orange (yum) and Melanie scored top points for the evening when a tall, tanned, and handsome mid-20's Spanish guy couldn't resist dancing with her virtually the whole night. Being the heart breaker that she is, Melanie declined to give him her name or number and so poor hot Spanish man had to fade back into the night when his group decided to leave the club around 3:30 in the morning. There are other fish in the sea, hombre.
And there are also other paint raves in the sea, which I look forward to most avidly. Until we paint again.
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