That night I went out with my host mom…

*Just a note. This was originally written when I was still drunk. It was reread to make sure nothing outrageous was getting put on the internet (the privacy lessons my parents instilled in me as a child seem to have worked, at least somewhat). But only minimal edits were made. So enjoy a glimpse of my less-functioning mind, and take everything with a grain of salt: *

And here I am. Home at just after 4 in the morning. Knowing I should sleep, but the little hairs in my ears are still damaged from the incredibly high decibel level they endured all night and I can’t fall asleep for some reason because the muffled sounds of late at night (really, early in the morning) are strange.

On a side note, I think that the hours of 3 and 4 are really the quietest hours of the day. Because even the latest night owls are asleep, or curled up with their internet and a big, warm blanket. And the earliest early birds aren’t up yet – they’ve been asleep for hours and are catching their last few moments of shuteye.

Anyways… we had a great time. We started with a glass of very sour white wine at a diskotech near Vyšehrad. I swear, of all the things I expected when I went out for a night on the town with my host mom – the person who is theoretically making sure I don’t do anything stupid or life altering while I’m living in Prague* – I did not expect to feel old at a club. But this first place we went to was basically empty, and everyone there looked like they were 16 at the oldest. Apparently the fake ID business is a booming business in Europe too…

*I say theoretically because she says I should do what I want. I asked what she would say if I came home with a tattoo – she said nothing. I asked what she would say if Emma asked her about a tattoo – she said that she’d tell Emma everyone is allowed to do whatever they want. She asked me why I think I have to wait to have kids.  Don’t worry, Dad, I did not get a tattoo, and I have no intentions of getting pregnant.

Obviously, we got out of there, and ended up at a bar called Harley’s around 11. Needless to say, Harley’s is an American-themed establishment, with motorcycles hanging from the ceiling and a variety of vanity license plates on the walls and Jack Daniel’s as the bar’s drink of choice. In typical Czech fashion, however, we started out with a plain ol’ Staropramen beer. (Staropramen – the local Praha beer, but definitely not as good as Pilsner. Just sayin’)

Anna got hit on by three different guys within not even five minutes, (what is this nonsense, I mean, she’s married!) and a group of three Italian guys (we were three, with Anna’s very nice coworker studying economics having joined us) from Milan bought us a second round. Also, at some point, because Aneta was wearing three or four giant rings, including one on her ring finger, the Italians asked if she was married. Apparently they wear their wedding ring on the other hand? Aneta’s left hand – no ring. Then my left hand – no ring. Then Anna’s left hand – no ring. And a shared smile by us three girls. ‘Cuz Anna never wears her ring. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear it. But she never said she wasn’t married – they just assumed. And bought us all a round of shots of blackcurrent flavored vodka. And then an extra one because I’m American, which means I must drink a lot, right?

We danced all night – really, I should say all morning at this point – to classic rock’n’roll songs. With the Italians. And the Brits. And the group of incredibly attractive Danes. Who bought us more beers. (They did it properly, though, and went for the Pilsners.) The 2am fire show was fun to watch – we sat at the bar and watched the three bartenders as they threw flaming alcohol bottles around their backs and back and forth and spat fire. It was quite impressive, but also terrifying, because we are sitting at the bar not even half a meter away from flinging fire, which is itself not even half a meter away from the wall of alcohol bottles. I feel like their nightly fire show is just an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

Hopefully, though, I’ll get back there before that happens. Because, in spite of the fact that I met only the Czechs that I came with, there were a lot of very attractive foreigners looking for a good night on the town. And I learned that I have made a significant transition in my second language abilities. Namely, that I no longer try to speak Japanese when I’m drunk. Nope. Now I speak Czech. Better than I do when I’m sober, I think. That and the beer was cheap.

January 14, 2014 | Categories: Czech Republic, Living Life, Stories | Tags: beer, british, dancing, danish, drunk, fire, harley, host mom, italian, party, vodka | Leave a comment