I drank gin and tonics until I nearly felt like I was going to vomit the spaghetti I have been living off of lately. We ended up leaving the apartment at half past eleven which made me anxious since the price to get into the event was supposed to go up by 6 dollars after midnight. Call me cheap (everyone does), but the entrance into Discotech In was already 24 dollars, and I was not about to get financially raped any more than I could help.
I don't know when we finally stumbled our way there, but we ended up waiting in a line that stretched around two sides of the block. Jesper the Danish roomy and I had to piss. I ran over to the biggest pillar I could find at what looked like a centuries old cathedral while he ran off into the darkness. He told me he found a tree because it's legal to urinate on trees in public, I guess...
We stood in gale force winds and teasing rain as we waited for the slow conveyor belt of varying drunkenness move to the entrance. Homeless men paced the stretch of the line, collecting cans and bottles that they can redeem at a supermarket for around twenty cents each. A guy from Montreal stood in front of us in line and showed us a breath-alyzer he takes with him whenever he goes out. Donna tried it and blew a .43, then the guy showed her how to use it correctly. More like .043.
I tried to talk to the bouncer when we got to the door. I noticed he was wearing a brand of jacket (Canadian Goose?) that was popular in Copenhagen. I pointed to the oversized emblem, "I like your jacket. What kind is it?" Jesper pulled me into the door before I could get a response and warned me, "Don't talk to the bouncers."
"OK." We got thought the entrance after midnight, but because we volunteered to the front of the line when someone asked for all students, we got charged the original entrance fee. Lucky thing, because coat check was 30 kroner and that was all I had left. A coat on that dance floor? Death sentence. The place was so crowded I had to modify my usually inappropriately flamboyant dancing because a girl complained to me in broken English that I was hitting her with her elbow. Fog machines went off throughout the night in conjunction with sensory assaulting strobe lights every time the DJ decided to loop a song for less than a second. It was a great way to get strangers blindly dancing with each other, but it added a humidity that made the rain soaked patrons even sloppier.
There was free wind, beer, and a curious mix of wine and soda they called champagne. I was sloshed when I got there from the five gin and tonics I had downed before leaving, but the people there were really drunk. The girls went to the bathroom immediately after checking in their coats and Jesper and I waited by the door. A guy walking towards the men's bathroom swooped his head down to the floor like a receiver dropping for a low pass and let out an epic splooge of chunky yellow vomit. He continued to the bathroom as if vomiting was something he often did while walking. I couldn't help but laugh as he silently walked past. It got even better when a guy, not thirty second after, stepped in it. He wouldn't have noticed had I not laughed loudly as his Adidas sneaker left a streak in the muck. He checked is foot angrily and kick what was loose on his shoe at me, leaving specks of vomit all over my pants and shirt.
I didn't react until he quickly turned down the stair. When he was out of sight my passive alpha male instinct came in and I described lustily to Jesper what I wanted to do with the overweight piece of shit who got vomit all over me. "Don't mess with him, you'll get your ass kicked." Fuck you Jesper...
I danced around feverishly until all of my roommates had been gone for more than an hour. I was ready to collapse before I even made it to the Metro station. I've never stayed out until five in the morning before, and it was a hell of a trip being that drunk and tired at the same time. All I could think about was sleep and how badly I wanted salty food.
When I got home I absently prepared to make spaghetti with meat sauce even as I was fighting back yawns and subtle but nagging nausea. After half an hour of torturous cooking, I ate the noodles in the pot, realizing that I was not actually hungry at that point. When I finished I tried to go to bed, but my stomach was too rowdy for me to fall asleep. Not willing to walk the extra ten feet to the bathroom, I stepped out to the balcony and shoved a finger down my throat. I think I hit nearly every floor below me with the barrage of badly chewed pasta. Sleep came easy after that.
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