Thank you Facebook

I had not been out in Málaga for a while until this past weekend. Last weekend I was in Madrid and the two weekends before I was with my mom in the hotel or traveling. Here is a brief sequence of events from Saturday night after I came home:

2am: I call it a night and think I am totally not "aprovechar"-ing the nightlife here (this is generally the time people in Spain leave their flats to go out for the night, not the other way around.) Oh well.

5am: I would have to be half dead not to hear my French roomie and his friend who was visiting for the weekend return to our flat. They immediately head to the kitchen. Normally you'd think I would be lucky to have my room situated next to the kitchen, but in this case no. I can hear absolutely everything that goes on in there from the turning on of the gas to the running of the water to him opening a box of Pringles.

5:05am: I realize falling back asleep is not an option and am seriously cursing myself for not having already learned French. At least in that case I could eaves drop and see how their night was.

5:15am: Someone is banging on the front door incessantly.

5:16am: French roomie opens the door. Italian roomie has forgotten his keys. Italian roomie has THE deepest Italian voice ever, and I realize that when he's drunk it sounds like I am listening to a really bad opera.

5:17am: Italian roomie joins French roomie and friend in kitchen for some late night grub.

5:19am: I realize there are now 4 voices. Italian roomie has also brought home a friend with him.

5:22am: There is the most peculiar noise coming from the hallway. It sounds like they have spread newspapers all over the floor and are skating around on it. I think it will probably stop very soon

5:26am: The noise is just getting louder and I am starting to wonder if I should pull myself out of bed to make sure that my apartment will not be a graffiti covered, newspaper flooded alleyway.

5:27am: I decide to stay in bed. Since I can't decipher the foreign tongues coming from outside my room I am getting paranoid that they are discussing a strategy to make enough noise that it would be impossible for me not to wake up and open my door... or worse, barge into my room and pour cold water on me.

5:30am: Everyone must be too drunk and tired to continue the late night antics because the voices and sounds stop.

10:30am: I open my door. The newspaper covered floors were not there. There is no graffiti. The furniture is all in the same place.

10:31am: I notice the following new additions to our flat:

No one else is awake so I text Emily, laugh and forget about it.

5pm: I get a notification on my blackberry that the Italian roomie's friend has tagged me in a photo on facebook. I think it's probably an accident...

5:01pm: I check the picture...

My room is the door at the right. Until I can comprehend French and Italian I will have to rely on Facebook and its photographic evidence to help me piece together what goes on in my multi-cultural flat while I am sleeping.