jueves, 26 de febrero de 2009

Hot, breathy ass walls

Well, it's been 4 days since I got home, but I'm going to attempt to recap our weekend in Granada anyway.

I got on the bus at the asscrack of dawn (10:00 AM - we have to wake up really early to get ready and walk to our meeting point, okay?) after getting a mere 3 hours of sleep. I am so hard core these days. I actually spent the night before dancing at Buddha, where everyone and their mother from the UNC Program was. The only highlight I can remember anymore is this drunk girl that was let loose on the dance floor. I guess she thought Angela and I were her friends, because she kept coming up to us, trying to dance with us, and putting her arms around our necks and trying to dance with us. Awkward, but true. The kicker was when she called Angela "Caroline." Nope, we're not your friends, honey. We passed her on to someone else. Anyways, this blog is NOT ABOUT GOING OUT OR CREEPERS, I swear this time.

We get to Granada at about 2ish I believe. Of course, nobody showered or anything before getting on the bus (and by nobody I mean Carolyn, Elle and myself), so we decided to go to our room and shower first before going out on the town. Well, can I just say that a really hot shower + comfy beds + time between each shower = 3 bitches passed out for 3 hours instead of getting ready and leaving?! It was unreal. We all woke up in our beds, still in our towels (kinky), without having done anything in Granada all day. Good job, team. And of course, we decide to get ready (another 45 mins) before going out and meeting up with some people for tapas. Epic fail.

Another epic fail occurred on our way to tapas. We could not figure out where we were going, so we called the boys who were already there. "We're near the big ass fountain," says Elle. We had only seen one on our walk so far. However, we must have passed a big ass fountain on about every street corner until we got to Elvira St. The maps in Granada only had select street names as well. What is the point of a map with only half of the city's street names printed? UNA RIDICULEZ!! Can't say anything else but epic fail.

Hmm.... what else. I guess I can talk about historical shiz that I saw on Day 2 of our voyage. We went to La Capilla Real & La Catedral de Granada on Saturday. In La Capilla, we were not allowed to take pictures, so of course, all of us were sneaking around with our cameras, turning our backs to the security guards, etc., trying to take pics. Then we see this old man with THE MOST OBNOXIOUSLY LARGE CAMERA I've ever seen taking pictures without a care as to who is watching. After that I didn't feel guilty about whipping out the shitty Nikon CoolPix in the church. It was pretty cool though, in all honesty. Ferdinand and Isabella are buried there alongside their daughter Juana who was queen of Spain later. However, both La Capilla & La Catedral were FREEZING on the inside, so it was nice to have a little free time to roam the city before... the devil... La Alhambra.

Last time I came to Spain after graduating, we had to tour the Alhambra for 3 fucking hours in the blistering Spanish heat. It was HEINOUS. And I promised myself that I would never put myself through such agony. Pretty building, cool to know some of the history... but after a while, it's all a broken record. Well, guess what CINECU had planned for us when we got to the Alhambra? If you guessed ANOTHER 3 HOUR TOUR, then you were right!! Worst time of m'life!! At first, it's interesting. Oh, some Roman baths, oh, a tower we can climb, oh, some beautiful tilework... but soon, it started dragging on. I was hungry. And hungry makes me miserable. I didn't feel like taking any more pictures, I just wanted to hurl myself from the castle walls and end it all. That's the effect of the Alhambra. It's great, it's like the 3rd most visited monument in all of Europe. BUT, 3 hours = heinousity without bounds.

The last memory of the trip that I have to share is in the "whisper room" or something like that. The ceilings are curved, so you can whisper in one corner, and the diagonal corner can hear what you're saying. I'm sure that makes no sense to anyone but me, but whatever. Anyway, after we left that godforsaken place and were waiting for the bus, Derrick and I were reminiscing on the day. We got to the whisper room, and for some reason or another, he called it the room with the "hot, breathy-ass walls." Of course, I was hysterical, repeated it to no end, and made him regret the day he ever said it. But I LOVE the use of "ass" as an adverb! It is hilarious. After that moment, I decided to insert "ass" the adverb into as many phrases as possible.

So in sum:
-Slept too long Friday
-Toured stuff
-Used ass as an adverb

Sounds like a full and enriching weekend to me. And it was all on my program's dime. Hollaaa.

miércoles, 25 de febrero de 2009

What I hate this week:


I am starting a new weekly segment on my blog!!! Get PUMPED. MUSCLE MIIIIIIIILK. Okay, but really. It's just going to be a weekly blurb, if you will, about something that I hate. I know you are all shocked to see that this happy creature has any type of pent-up rage against anything, but alas, it's true.

This week is a tie. In fact, I was considering just adding them to my old pop culture blog, but I decided to make a weekly segment because I'm so full of hate.

1. Rat tails & Mullets

I feel like this is self-explanatory. Who thinks a mullet is cute on a guy? Who would like to twirl a braided rat tail while making out with a macho Spaniard?

*cricket, cricket* *passing tumbleweed*

That's right, NO ONE ON EARTH finds either of these two things attractive. Regardless, Spanish men continue to rock them both. I hate myself, because I really think mullets are funny sometimes and enjoy taking the occassional paparazzi picture with a horrid mullet in the background (Shout out Busch Gardens Family Trip). I feel as though I might have egged on the fad. Regardless of my escapades and penchant for stalkerazzi pics, both mullets and rat tails, even a few inches long, are unacceptable in the free world. Come on, Spain.


2. Jean-on-Jean Combo

Oh, now this is a definite HELL NO. I am no fashion guru by any means, but for god's sake, I know that one does not EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVERRRRR wear a jean jacket with jeans. It's deplorable. Even more heinous is the "he-who-must-not-be-named" of the denim world: the combination of two DIFFERENT SHADES OF JEAN! Holy hellll. I have seen way too much of this lately.


25 Things (I hate myself for doing this; tying up the noose as we speak)

oI feel like these things are obnoxious on Facebook, so I'm doing it here ONLY BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN TAGGED, LIKE, 1,000 FUCKING TIMES. I KNOW I'M HILARIOUS AND YOU WANT TO KNOW ALL ABOUT ME, BUT REALLY!?

1. I have cried at a John Mayer concert. I also cried later that day thinking about it in the airport (I saw him on Good Morning America... I was like, 10 feet away. You would cry too if it happened to you. Oh, and Eric Clapton came out). I would probably saw off my own arm to meet him. I seriously love him way too much for it to be considered healthy or normal fandom.

2. Speaking of celebrities, I could probably tell you everything about every celebrity that you probably don't even care to know. Did you know George Clooney had a pet pig? Didn't think so. I am full of worthless pop culture information. This is why I felt wrong majoring in News Writing, because I know absolutely NOTHING about politics in the free world, nothing about wars or public health or anything of worldly importance, but I could tell you who just won the Oscar for Best Actress (Kate Winslet --- LOVE HER).

3. I have a lot of gay friends. It makes me incredibly angry when people think that one "chooses to be gay," because, well, you don't. I get really mad when people are socially conservative. It's the 21st century people, let's move on.

4. People think it's weird that I have no contact with my mom's parents (technically my grandparents, but I really don't consider them to be so). It's a really complicated situation, but I know that my mom and dad wouldn't put me in a bad situation, so I know that the relationship isn't worth my time.

4b. It also makes me incredibly depressed to know that my dad's parents are gone. My grandma was seriously the best.... she would always laugh at my jokes (the true measure of a good person in my world) and give me tissues out of her bra HAHA. I really was lucky to have 11 years with her.

4c. I never got to meet my pop pop, and it really saddens me as well. "He would've loved you" doesn't exactly suffice for knowing someone. I want to go to his village in Italy while I'm here in Spain.

5. I am in love with Spain (that might be blatantly obvious). Every day I'm here walking around, I continue to think to myself that I could live here.

5a. However, I probably wouldn't be so happy if it weren't for Angela (my wife). We seem to attract the creepy/awkward, but it makes for funny stories. Our nightly talks/bitch sessions, some of which are when we are literally asleep, also keep me sane here.

6. On the subject of family... we are the FUNNIEST family on Earth. Really. I sometimes want to plant video cameras around the house to capture the essence of us (Not in a peeping tom way, you know). My favorite is when we all are together eating dinner. Holy shit, or the family reunions. That's really when the crazy comes out.

7. I don't know what I want to do with my life. My career paths in live have changed drastically: teacher, marine biologist, dentist, writer, diplomat, hooker. As of now, my top three ideal situations are:
a) Marry rich and freeload
b) Celebrity publicist
c) Author and professional blogger
I can't decide.

8. I don't read for pleasure. I don't read for school for that matter.

9. I haven't eaten pig products since I read Charlotte's Web in the third grade. It might be Wilbur!

10. I used to be a child model for a department store in Reading, PA -- Boscov's. They stopped calling one day... it hurt.

11. I would love to be in a Judd Apatow movie. They never get old to me and are all hilarious. I could probably recite the majority of Superbad as well. That movie made me have a crush on Jonah Hill.

12. My ideal boyfriend would have to be an artistic talent, funny, and would preferably have an accent. If he played the guitar, I would probably take my pants off right there. Awkward but true. I guess the key (to the ignition, *wink*), though, is a sense of humor.

12a. I don't really like sappy stuff in relationships. It's awkward.

13. People think that just because I act like an idiot, I'm not smart. I clearly remember someone in high school assuming that I was joking that I got into UNC because I acted a fool in drama class all the time.

14. High school Theater is probably my favorite memory of high school, if not my teenage life. I seriously don't regret a minute of it... I actually think about it a lot and miss everyone. I made the best friends of my life there as well. It also taught me that it was okay to be myself, as p*ssy as that sounds.

15. I used to have a hamster named M.C. Hamster. I burned him once in the sink giving him a bath and almost killed him, but he lived. I also clearly remember the morning I woke up and he was dead in his cage. My mom made me go to school.

16. I have an unwarranted fear of fish. I cannot swim in bodies of water (oceans, lakes, etc.) if I start thinking of the giant fish lurking below the surface. I don't eat fish, either. It's the smell.

17. I hate cats as well. But once I saved a stray cat that I found in my yard. My dad tried, after about a month of me feeding him, to call in the ASPCA or one of those organizations that gases the animals. I cried so hard that he let him stay. My mom's friend from work took him later that month to an adoption place for p*ssies, and he was adopted within the week. This was all when I was, like, 18 by the way.

18. It scares me to think about growing up. I might be in a quarter-life crisis right now because I feel so old. Don't remind me that I'm graduating next year.

19. Thinking back now, I really don't know how the nickname "Beast" didn't make me suicidal.

20. I am infinitely jealous of my sister Julie because she's always known exactly what she wants to do with her life. I am infinitely jealous of Cristina because she is so outgoing -- she could make friends with Osama Bin Laden. I think now that we're older we really value each other. Heavy stuff.

21. I once witnessed a tragic house fire at Ocean Isle Beach. It changed my life... living for the present is key. I also really started to appreciate my family and friends a LOT more.

22. I cry a lot over silly things. Examples: When Barack Obama mentions Michelle in speeches, when actors accept their Oscars, every second Robin Williams is on the screen in Good Will Hunting, etc.

23. I sometimes experience baby fever. I see a really cute baby and then it really makes me want to have one. Then I realize I'm only 20 and I start to feel really uncomfortable about myself. Creepy now to see it in writing.

23a. I am convinced I will become a librarian and have no children, so fuck baby fever.

24. I really don't know how my best friend has put up with me for 10 years. I am probably the most annoying son-of-a-bitch I know. Shout out!

25. I'm obsessed with my parents. It's weird how we didn't have that much growing up because I never knew it. They are so selfless. It's crazy, and I hope I can be half as good to my potential children as they were to me.

domingo, 22 de febrero de 2009


Okay, I'm not going to blog all about Granada right now. But I will tell a hilarious (and slightly embarrassing--shocker) story from lunch.

I get home from Granada around 2:15... this means I get back to our piso in Nervion around 2:35, perfect timing for lunch. I walk in... looking SICK because I am short on sleep and didn't shower this morning... wearing dirty clothes... and lo and behold, the entire fam is here for lunch!! It's Mercedes' birthday!! I felt bad that I had no idea it was today, but I don't think birthdays are as serious here as they are in the US, or people just don't drag them out as long and obnoxiously as I do. Either way, I found out as I was walking in that it was her birthday. Roque and his girlfriend were here for lunch because of it.

I sat down at the table after quickly dropping my shit on my bed with no time to primp or anything... and let me reiterate that I am EXTREMELY tired, because I only got like 15 hours of sleep combined in the last 3 nights. AWESOME. And I have been speaking in English all weekend because the Granada trip was all of the people from my track on the program.

So once I sat down, the barrage of questions about my trip start. I'm doing okay at first: Did you have fun? What did you do? etc. Soon, however, I just have the ultimate brain fart. And when I say ultimate, I mean ULTIMATE. I could not understand ANYTHING THEY WERE SAYING TO ME. Then, the como's and que's just started flying:

Did you stay in a hotel? - Roque
Did you stay in a hotel? - Roque
A hotel... you stayed in a hotel, right? - Mercedes
Oh, si

Wow, embarassing, right? But that wasn't the worst one.

Mercedes then asked me about the weather, because the news said that it was going to be pouring all weekend in Granada, and it's kind of an inside joke that whenever we go on a visit, it rains. I'm pretty sure she knew that it hadn't actually rained at all, so she wanted to talk about how nice it was. But when she asked me the question, I literally had NO CLUE what she said to me. It sounded like fucking hindu or bush man talk. She might as well have talked in clicks and pops like a tribal African, because nothing she said made sense. I just stared at her blankly for what felt like an eternity and finally spit out,

"Lo siento... como?????"

And everyone at the table just started hysterically laughing. I'm pretty sure Roque even let in a few "this is so goddamn funny I can't control my hands"-claps. It was awesome. Actually, now that I'm writing about it, I am laughing because it was just that absurd.

Now, time for a nap, and hopefully I can use more than sign language at dinner tonight, where I'm sure the entire family will be yet again. For now, though, I'm warming up my "que"s and "como"s just in case of emergency.

miércoles, 18 de febrero de 2009

What I miss most about home

An email from my mother:

I had a night from hell. Rosie was on a mission. At 2AM she started barking and sat on the crate in the bonus room, so I picked her up and brought her into our room. About 15 minutes later she started sniffing again, then jumped off of the bed, ran to the window and started barking. Then dumb dumb followed and the two of them were barking. I went to the window to see a few deer in our yard. The deer finally moved about 30 minutes later, but once again Rosie jumped off of the bed. She starts barking, and I saw there was a cat in the street that took it's sweet time walking up the Small's driveway until it disappeared. Finally, they went to sleep, but I lost about an hour and a half. Ms. Rosie did not want to get out of bed this morning because she was sleepy, so I showered first then took them out into the pouring rain. We were outside for about 5 minutes. They both acted like someone was shooting them because the rain was very heavy.

Just the little things to help me get by, you know?

domingo, 15 de febrero de 2009

Monkeys & the Motherland

Hey... hooo.... hey....hoooo

Well... it's obviously very late in Sevilla (4 am). But I have decided that instead of getting some much-needed sleep, I will blog.

Today, I went to Gibraltar - the British colony at the very, very tip of Spain, "on the cusp", if you will, of Africa (I don't know what that means, but let's go with it). It was so cool. I was literally 15 kilometers from fuckin' AFRICA. I am unofficially taking a 6-day tour of Morocco come the end of April, so just seeing the rock across the Strait of Gibraltar got me all excited (that's what she said). But really, today made me realize I was on the other side of the globe, so close to things I've only ever seen on maps and in pictures. Heavy, man.

Also in Gibraltar, we visited a 2 MILLION YEAR OLD CAVE. Seriously... think about this: this cave formed over 2 millions years just from single drops of water that slowly formed stalag_ites (fill in t or m, whichever tickles your fancy). It was cool. Sadly, it also caused my new jeans to get all damn muddy, but I think it was worth it. Pictures to follow. I felt like Bat Boy miiiight jump out any second. Yea, that kind of cave.

But really, the highlight of anyone's trip to Gibraltar = the MONKEYS!! We pulled up to St. Michael's Cave and, right outside of the car, sat a muhfuckin monkey. A MONKEY!! A WILD MONKEY, JUST CHILLIN OUTSIDE OF OUR VAN!! These guys weren't shy either; in fact, one proceeded to jump right on our van and attach itself to the sideview mirrors. It. was. awesome. Sadly, they cut me off from time with the beautiful beasts to go into the cave, but when we exited was when it really got interesting...

As you all know, I am an idiot. And, because of my stupidity, I decided to take a picture of me making a monkey face right next to a real-live monkey. The first monkey I tried it with was sitting on a trash can. I walked over slowly, got into position, posed... AND THE BASTARD REACHED DOWN AND TOUCHED MY BOOB! I was excited at first (not for beastiality reasons, perverts) because I thought he was going to sit on my back, but NOOOO. Typical Iberian-Penninsulan man, that monkey was -- he just wanted a piece but couldn't handle the whole pie. Sadly, sadly, sadly, no monkey sat on me that day, but I did pet a babyyyyyyy and get some sweet close up (and seriously personal) pictures of monkey mommies and babies...

The rest of the city was pretty sweet, too. Because it's a British colony, they have double-decker buses, phonebooths, "bobbies,"... everything and more that is stereotypical of England. All in all it was an awesome day.

Note: The main reason this blog happened is to prove I do more than go out and get acosted by creepers. I also enrich myself in Spanish culture, Ithankyou.

So, just as a side note... I have been thinking a lot about things lately (probably because I keep getting tagged in 25 things and am not sure if I should participate... ARGH). I have decided that one of my goals while I'm here is to see where my grandpa was from in Italy. And in planning and researching for this trip, I have become more and more depressed that I never really got a relationship with him. He died 4 months before I was born. And although the stories of what a great man he was and how much he would have loved me and laughed at me help, I really regret that he was taken before my time. I guess this is the main reason I want to go to Civita. I also think it would be a special trip to take on my own or with someone from my family, especially my dad. But I don't know how that would happen, considering my parents will only be here a week. I really have to think about this and talk to my dad, but I hope this trip happens, because it will really have a lot of meaning for me.

Alright, that's enough for tonight. Hasta luego...

viernes, 13 de febrero de 2009

He's rolling the dice too much...

Thursday night out was probably the best night I've had so far in Sevilla, if not in my entire LIFE.

Walked down to Calle Betis with Elle and our little friend Joven. We sat on the bridge and finished it off and then headed to Long Island for the illustrious (bottled) free sangria... What a taste! In fact, it was even more heinous when they started running low on the stuff and adding orange soda to it. They tried passing it off as Tinto Verano. Fail. I couldn't drink anymore of that garbage, so we hit up the 1.50 Jager Bombs. Here's a great "That's what she said" moment that happened when Elle was explaining the best way to take a Jager Bomb:

"I find it easier if you slide it in so it doesn't splash up in your face."

We then headed off to a bar called Dwende (?), which was small and awkward (that's what she said). There, however, I stole a delicious shot from a guy who had bought like 8 of them for his friends. I went up to the bartender and asked her how much each one costed. She said, "Oh, he's already paid." So, being the genius that I am, I replied, "Okay, great," and took the shot. Luckily, the guy who bought them didn't seem to notice the sketchy girl facing the wall taking a solo shot that looked suspiciously like one of his. We also stole toilet paper from this bar. Sorry, Dwende.

Also at that bar, a great moment between Derrick and I. All I can say is Chris Brown came on the stereo and a full-on re-enactment of his and Rihanna's domestic violence happened. It was hilarious for us, but for everyone else I'm sure it just looked like he was beating me up.

We quickly left Dwende, however, to take the TRAIL of TEARS to Buddha, the best but farthest discoteca we've found. On our way, we ran into, I kid you not, a woman carrying around her pet BUNNY. And this just wasn't any bunny - the thing was about as big as a toddler. "Mira, un conejo," was all I could utter at the sight of the beast. We took some pictures, but I think the lady and her pet, Chulu or Chulo or something along those lines, hated us completely.

On the way to Buddha, Elle and I decided, because we had the safety of a male with us, that we could harass Spanish men the same way they harass us. All I can say is that I failed MISERABLY. Derrick sketched off for a second, and THAT was the time I decided to say "Hola" to a Spanish man... "Adonde vais?" he said to us. I felt really lame afterwards for being the initiator of the conversation and then proceeding to blow him off and be awkward. Oh well, it's all in good fun.

We also found it to be a good idea to throw as many oranges as we could get our hands on into the Guadalquivir River. Awesome.

Then, we finally made it to Buddha. We immediately ran into some people from our program: Grace, Natalie, and Forest. They were all smoking a hookah, so they didn't join us upstairs for our first go-round on the dance floor. However, all the gropers were too much for us to handle so we headed back downstairs. (Elle still doesn't believe it was me grabbing dat ass, but I stand by my confession...)

We sat back down at the hookah table with everyone and just started talking about random things. Somehow we got on the topic of funny movies, and that is really when the fun began. All I can say is that before long, we were talking about one of my faves, Knocked Up. Of course, one of the most memorable scenes takes place at the club where Seth Rogen is "dancing," aka doing the dice roll. We all started acting it out and realized that, if you don't actually roll the dice, the move can look a bit like, well, you know...

Then, I said, "Wouldn't it be funny if I went upstairs and just stood on the dance floor making this motion surrounded by a group of people?"

Everyone at the table decided that they would go dance only under the premise that I would do so.

"I literally have no shame. Let's go upstairs NOW."

And so we did.

Two hours and two sore wrists later, I am pretty sure I had the best night of dancing at Buddha that I've experienced. Everyone in the group was doing it... when someone bumped into me on the dance floor, they got a little motion. When someone tried to dance with me that was creepy (oh, and THANKS FOR HELPING ME when that creeper was on me. I'll never forgive you guys...), he also got the motion. Just general songs, motion. It was seriously the most fun I've had, and it revolved around a bet that I wouldn't be up for making an ass hole out of myself.


miércoles, 11 de febrero de 2009


The title of this blog represents a night that trumps all nights in the creepiness department. This night was the Michael Phelps in the Creepy Olympics. This night...

I went out to Calle Betis with Angela, Carolyn, Andy and Coop. We met in the park (where I found them all climbing the jungle jim... cool!) and then went to a local cafe for a few minutes to have a few glasses of wine. Angela and I had bought some liquor to make mixed drinks, and it was THE WORST decision of our lives. It tasted like burnt caramel popcorn instead of the supposed coconut flavor it said on the front. Bye. After sitting there for a while we headed down to Calle Betis. I'm not exactly sure why we were so intent on going down there, but we did.

On the way we met a drunk group of Italians who were celebrating a friend's birthday. She was WASTED, wearing a flamenco-dress apron & a drawn on mole. She also kept singing "Ole ole ole ole" (yea, that song) and playing her castinets. It was fun. They decided to go to Big Ben with us, and although we didn't see them again for the rest of the night, they did let out a few "OBAMA" cheers, per usual. Oh that Barry Hussein really gets the troops going.

At Big Ben, we just got a few drinks and hung out. I did notice a former creeper there that I had talked to before. I didn't know his name, but I remembered his two most outstanding qualities: 1) He was old, and 2) He was French. He was sitting at the bar with his friend while Angela and I took a chupito. I didn't think anything of it, but Jesus Christ I was wrong.

We decided to leave Big Ben and head down to Al Alba, whose flyer boasted a dance party. FAIL. We got there and there were like 2 people dancing. I felt like I needed to try and start the party. Again, FAIL. Carolyn and I were out on the dance floor pretty much solo until the rest of our group joined us. That was it. We did try to dance with this guy who later made out with another dude. That made me feel better about myself.

After about an hour of that, Andy, Coop & Carolyn decided to head back to Nervion, but Angela and I went to Fundicion, another bar. This is when things turned really sour for us. Probably the second we walked in, these two OLD creepers came up and told us how pretty we were. K bye. They must not have noticed that we were so young that we could have been their children. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt here.

We decided to mingle around the bar area to get away from the old guys. Big Mistake.

Remember Frenchie from the other bar? Well, he had somehow made his way to Fundicion and saw me walk through the crowd. Like white on rice, he was by my side. Maybe the following exchange is kosher in France, but it did NOT SIT WELL WITH ME.

"I have seen you before, 3 times," he said.
"Oh really? I think I've only met you once before.'
"No, I've seen you three times."
"I like the way your cheeks turn red when you take a shot."
"I also like it when you play with your hair."
"Okay I was actually on my way to the bathroom. Bye."

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN??????????????????????????????????????????????????

I seriously don't know if anyone else finds this creepy, but it was so fucking uncomfortable. Worse than a man telling me he wanted to spend every day with me. Worse than someone telling me his friend had a 14 centimeter member. Worse than any possible instance of my life I can think of leading up to this point.

I feel like this trumps all experiences I've had in my life with men, bad and good and otherwise. You just TOLD ME you WATCH ME when I go out... on THREE SEPARATE OCCASIONS, when I only TALKED TO YOU ONCE! Uggghhghghgh, I'm really, really sorry for all these emotions right now.

It's just not right. Why can't I find a decent, non-creeper, non-old, and non-stalker European man!?!

Love of God, help me.

martes, 10 de febrero de 2009

Pop Culture Humor of the Day

What did Rihanna say when Chris Brown was choking her?

How am I supposed to breathe with no air?
No air, no air, no aiiiirrrrr

Actually, this situation isn't funny, but Angela was just singing this song and I made a really heartless joke.



Another possible punchline for the joke:

SOS, Please someone help me...

How I feel today:

Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game to find a way to say that life has just begun
Had a talk with my old man
Said help me understand
He said turn 68, you'll renegotiate
Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
Don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train

See once in a while when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing'til you cry when you're driving away in the dark...

Singing stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take this speed it's moving in
I know I can't
Cause now I see I'll never stop this train.


This blog is titled 'Hogwarts' because I felt like I was there today. In reality, I just started classes at the University of Sevilla. I am taking classes in two facultades: filologia hispanica & historia. And luckily for me, both of those facultades are located in a gorgeous old building that used to be a tobacco factory. I'm not kidding, this place is amazing. It's surrounded by a moat for Christ's sake.

But throw in a little Hogwarts, and this places becomes more foreign than 'Nam.

I compare this University to Hogwarts because there is ABSOLUTELY NO RHYME OR REASON to where classrooms are. For example, I was searching for my first class today in Aula XII. I walked in to the general area where my class would be. My first sight -- Aula XVII.

"Must be close," I thought to myself.

Then I realized the classroom next door was labled "VII." Strange. But even stranger was the fact that right across the hall was Aula 103 in normal numbers. It is some sort of mind warp.

Editor's Note: If you do not read Harry Potter, do not read the following paragraph, as you will not understand, instead will think blogger is plain crazy.

And if you think all of that is confusing, don't even get me started on those changing staircases and moving pictures. I honestly felt like Peeves was playing a day-long trick on me and changing the numbers of the classrooms. I didn't think I needed a secret password for this shit... this isn't Gryffindor Tower.

Wow for that rant. Really, though, the search for XII dragged on for a good 30 minutes. After finding it on an entirely different floor than XVII (which doesn't make sense that some double digits are downstairs and some are upstairs), I settled in for my first class, geography.

Couldn't tell you a SHIT of what happened in that class. I'm working on changing that.

Next, I was off to Sociolinguistica Andaluza, the class I was considering changing. But when the professor walked in and started talking, I knew I was staying. I understood everything he said, and it didn't help that he was old and adorable. I was hooked despite the class meeting on Friday.

Then, I went to Comedia de Lope de Vega in the afternoon. One word: NOPE.

I couldn't understand anything this woman was saying. A nice Spanish guy in front of us helped us get the copies she was handing out, but that's the only thing I took away from her 1-hour long schpeel about the class. I then went to Angeles's (the program director) office and looked for any sort of filler for Lope.

Thank GOD I got to blow off a little steam at Nervion Plaza (the mall) after class. I spent a good chunk of change on 3 items: jeans, HUGE SUNGLASSES, and a shirt. But it felt really good after such a stressful day.

Nothing, however, solves my stress quite like cheesecake, and Mercedes had some waiting for me when I got home. Granted, it was Roque's 30th birthday, so there was an occassion, but it made me feel sooo much better to get out of my head for a few minutes and just stuff my face. I also ate a huuuuge slice of tortilla espanola.

I ended the night by watching "Mira Quien Baile" with Mercedes. It's pretty much my favorite show aside from "Pasapalabra." Our least favorite, Jose (a matador), got kicked off FINALLY. He was heinous and always messed up. The finals are next Monday and we're rooting for Manuel, although I think it's a little unfair that he's known to be a good dancer already... the battle wages on as to who I'm rooting for in the finale...

Really, that's all. I thought some people might care that I go to school here. Hasta luego!

sábado, 7 de febrero de 2009

Carolyn Moore

Hey... so this blog is dedicated to Carolyn Moore because she was my hero last night, if only for about 2 minutes. There is a problem here in Spain called "MACHISMO." I guess men think they can say and do whatever they want to females without reprimand. And, as I've said before, it's especially tough for us American girls because they like to say the most inappropriate things that NO American guy would dare say to a female. It's absurd.

So... last night, we were walking alone trying to find a discoteca in the Viapol area close to our house (because we all just wanna dance sometimes, yea?). As we're walking, this fucking Spaniard walks by and says, "Eat Your P*ssy." Of course, I am so completely dumbfounded by the fact that someone is saying this to me that I cannot, like a four-year-old, use my words. Carolyn, on the other hand, quickly responds with a sharp F-U. The guy then stops and says, "You two fuck me." WOW. Again, no words. In English, I would be going CHRISTIAN BALE on this guy (please tell me you've heard the freak-out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLXVuy0h29c).

But, thank god I had tiny, sassy Carolyn to respond with the following:

"Nadie quiere fucarte."

OH MY GOD!!! When that happened, alllll of his friends were like "OOOHHH!" I am pretty sure a single tear went down my face when she said that, and another one is building up as I write this. The constant SASS is now working in her favor. And whenever I walk around Sevilla at night, I think she needs to protect me from my Helen Keller muteness when creepy Spaniards are disrespectin'.

viernes, 6 de febrero de 2009

We lahv O-bama!

The title of this blog is phonetically written because I think I've heard it about 100 times from locals and other Europeans. I'll tell you, when they realize we're Americans, they LOVE bringing up the new POTUS. Two instances stick out...

One night we were heading down to El Centro/Catedral Area and it was raining. Someone (*cough* Angela *cough*) forgot her umbrella, so the two of us had to try and fit under my BABY umbrella. I'm not kidding, it's the smallest thing ever (that's what she said). Anyways, I show her how small it is (that's what he said) and she doesn't think we can fit underneath. "Yes we can," I respond...

And then, out of nowhere, a voice:

"Yes we can! Obama!"

A Spaniard behind us must have heard a few english words that had become familiar in the past year and, maybe, thought we were talking about the Pres. Of course, I am an idiot and respond back, "Yes we can! Yes we can!" and he screams back to me, "We lahv O-bama!"

And like that we had our catchphrase for Saturday night.

Instance #2 was probably the most memorable thing that has happened whilst walking anywhere in Sevilla so far. Angela, Elle, and I were heading to Flagherty's Pub (again, down in El Centro) to watch the Superbowl. As we are passing the Cathedral, a group of men who I immediately pegged as Italians (what can I say, I know my people well) asked us to take a picture.

I guess we must obviously be Americans, because they started speaking to us in English. And of course, I get a kick out of it. They asked us our names, proceeded to scream, "Angela, I LOVE YOU!" and also awkwardly took pictures of us while we stood there talking to them. But, the best part was when the crazy guy from the group (who tried to get us to go to a discoteca and also dropped some line about going to a hotel... nope) started screaming "Bill Clinton" at us. I guess he could only think of Clinton off the top of his head as an American icon, so whatevs. But I quickly corrected him -- "No. OBAMA." His response was absolutely classic. Imagine being on the side of the third largest gothic cathedral in the world, at midnight, in the drizzling rain, with a group of Italians, one of whom is talking about his Harley Davidson, one of whom's neck and chin are seamless and whose body is completely spherical, and one of whom is screaming "Obama" and doing the chicken dance. I couldn't contain myself and just busted up laughing in his face. We all did, actually. And although we left our Italian friends to go to wherever the hell it was they were headed that night, it did show that Obama is kind of a world icon already. It's weird.

And it also shows that such happiness can still induce the chicken dance, at least in Europeans. I might have to add this to my "Pop Culture" blog, along with the many references in the past week to Bill Clinton. Forget "Yes We Can"; I should start dropping "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" in conversation and see what kind of responses I get from that.

jueves, 5 de febrero de 2009

That is the question.

Okay, so I have seen quite a few religious figures wandering around Sevilla, and it has made me wonder:

What would be worse -- to be a nun or to have a sign taped on one's back saying "I'm a Virgin"?

I guess they are essentially the same thing, except one is more permanent, which sucks for the nun. Then again, nobody looks down on a nun for being virginal because, well, that's more or less her job.


lunes, 2 de febrero de 2009

The magic words

Screw "I Love You."

There are only 3 words that will get you into my heart (or pants):


I am waiting patiently for a delicious Spanish dinner, and these are the words Mercedes always says. And damn if I'm not STARVING prior to every meal...

Lunch is the biggest meal of the day and I take advantage of that wholeheartedly, lemme tell ya. But, by the time dinner rolls around a good 6 1/2 hours later, I'm about to die of hunger...

This blog is really just a distraction until she calls us to the kitchen. I hear lots of pots clanging and dishes being taken out. I am foaming at the mouth and my stomach is growling.

Here's a picture of the metaphorical me, one of Pavlov's dog (a wonderful reference I will accredit to my roommate, Angela, because, well, we are on the level of dogs at this point):

Okay, perhaps this is not one of Pavlov's dogs, but it gets the point across. I can hear frying now. LOVE OF GOD, LET ME EAT!!

It's now 9:30 PM, a little late for our normal dinner. I usually watch the news to get myself through the grueling last half-hour of starvation. Also, there are some delicious Solano candies on the table out there that I eat while she cooks. Tonight, however, I am stuck in the confines of my room planning trips and blogging to my one reader (shout out JULIE).

9:33 PM. This shit is getting out of hand. We usually eat by 9:20ish...

9:34 PM. I feel like Edgar Allen Poe, sans the beating heart under the floorboard, plus the stomach cryiiiiiiiiiing for food.

9:34:30 PM. I am chewing my hand. Angela is crying against the wall about to pass out.


Post-Publication Note: Last night's meal consisted of delicious pasta with cheesy sauce, a small tortilla espanola with spinach, and three cheese triangles. Worth the absolute pre-meal agony, per usual.

domingo, 1 de febrero de 2009

Quiero quedar contigoooo

I am writing two blogs today because the events of last night cannot go without being published.

Yes, they were that INCREIBLE.

So, we headed out from our house around 10:20, going towards El Centro (near La Catedral). This area, while old, lovely, and oh-so-European, is basically a maze. It took us a solid 45 minutes to get to TexMex (whose sign, by the way, was probably in 12-point-font, adding to it's elusiveness), only to realize that the UNC-NCSU game we were going to watch was literally in its final 2 seconds. We did, however, see the Heels win and all of us sang the alma mater. Cool, but slightly embarassing. Then, we all headed to this small bar where drinks were supposedly cheap.

Let me emphasize the phrase "hole in the wall" in terms of this bar we went to. We could barely all fit inside. And, the men there... yikes. They were all probably in their 30s, and many of them acted as though they had never seen a woman before. This is probably part of the reason why they were acting so INCREDIBLY unreal allll night to us. First was the drunk guy who insisted on pounding it with all of us as we walked in. He was wastey. He was also there with several wastey friends. One guy could barely sit up or open his eyes, but damnit if he wasn't still going for his vodka y limon.

Since it was so crowded, Elle, Angela and I decided to stand in the hallway into the bar and crack open the bottle of wine I had in my purse (wow) and pass it around. The guys standing around were shocked after we finished it in a good 3-4 minutes. We are serious about our Joven. After that, Angela and I split a de-lish-ous glass of Sangria. That, however, involved us fighting our way into the bar again. And that's really when the fun began.

Before I start, I want to detail a trend in Sevilla bars - the Asian piece-of-shit-vendors. These people come into bars with light up swords and glass and pins and a whole bunch of other worthless stuff.

Well, tonight was no exception... of course, we all refused, but the drunk men at the bar could not resist the 5 euro light sabers. After pretending they were light-up penises for a good ten minutes, two of them engaged in an epic light saber battle in the middle of the bar. Of course, I was laughing like an idiot and harassing them with pictures. They didn't seem to mind.

Remember drunk fist-pound guy? He noticed me taking pictures of his light saber battle, so he came over to take a picture of Elle, Angela and I... and him. And wow, it was special... I am posting them on FB asap, and they are probably my best pictures of ANYTHING this entire trip. I guess we got old, so he went to talk to some of the other girls in our group.

Then, in walks a group of 5 guys in medeival court-jester-ish costumes: ruffle necks, black puffy shirts, sashes... the whole nine yards. Apparently, they were in some sort of Spanish classical band. While standing to get a drink at the bar, I could see the bald one staring at us. Wow for him. He had a piece of chalk and was drawing all over the bar... he drew arrows pointing towards the three of us (I still don't know exactly what that meant). Then, I asked him if I could use the chalk. I drew a huge smiley face on the bar. I think that was a mistake, because he must have thought I meant that I was happy in his presence. Nope. He then took the chalk from me and drew the most jacked-up pair of lips I've ever seen and then drew an arrow towards me. Then he proceeded to blow kisses. Mind you, this man is probably late thirties. I said "Gracias," then looked awkwardly away.

We got kind of sick of how crowded the main part of the bar was, so we slipped out again to the entrance area. There, we found 2 more members of the medieval band, probably the creepiest looking guys ever. I drunkenly made the mistake of asking for a cancion, and kept saying it until they started singing. The one singer asked me, in English, to "please be quiet" so they could sing... and boy, was it heinous. I laughed the ENTIRE time. And, lucky for us, they did not play one, not two, but THREE WHOLE SONGS!! Absolutely unreal. Apparently, the guy in the glasses was only staring at Angela's boobs. Creeper, creeper, creeper.

After that fiasco, I headed towards the bathroom, when 30-year-old pound-it guy came up to me and said, "Hola, mi amor." I said, "Hola," thinking that would be the end of that. But no, he then decides to SING THE FOLLOWING TO ME: "Quiero quedar contigo." I want to stay with you?? REAAAAAALLY??

I then find out this guy is MARRIED, WITH A CHILD! He was actually in love with another girl, Elizabeth, from our program. After she left, thoroughly creeped out, I'm sure, he told me to tell her he loved her. I said, "Arent you married?" He responds, "Bill Clinton."


At this point, we realize it's probably time to head out from this bar, as the men are getting drunker and, therefore, exponentially creepier. We went around the corner to Flagherty's Irish Pub, a place I didn't want to go, but followed anyway.

I was wrong though, because this was the best part of the night, and probably the best night I've had in Sevilla.

All I can say is, when we got there, we started a DANCE PARTY. Like I said in my last blog, they played a lot of shiteous American music, but I really actually enjoyed it, especially the Grease Medley. As we were dancing, Angela and I somehow got a little separated from the group.

And this, my friends, is when we were surrounded by a group of GUAPO Spanish boys.

Despite someone slapping my ass while I was dancing, I kind of fell in love with all of them. We were all dancing together and having a good time. Then, they all disappeared, minus one, named "Jimmy." He was 19 and a native Sevillian. I was excited to meet some locals because we really need to make Spanish friends. I was bummed, however, because all of his hottie friends were gone. But, Jimmy, too disappeard and we started dancing again with a group of 40 something Spanish women. They were heinous dancers, but fun. We stayed there until the lights came up at 3:00 AM.

The group met outside, and most of them planned on going to the discoteca Elefunk. Angela and I, however, slipped back into the bar to see if our hottie friends were sitll there. Lo and behold, there they all were.... "Adonde vais?" they asked us. Oh god in heaven, I was so happy to have a hoard of Spanish men inviting us to party with them. Angela and I were laughing and enjoying all of the attention.

Then, however, the group's wingman had to come in and ruin EVERYTHINGGGGGGG.


This guy, whose name I don't recall and don't really want to, came over, and started speaking the only English he knew. As we all know, most of the things they can say to us in English are dirty and inappropriate. This was no exception.

This guy decided to tell us that his friends have "14 centimeter dicks," that "American girls are good at sucking dick," that "my friend wants to sex with you," etc.

FIRST OF ALL, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY: 14 centimeters = 5.5 inches.
Is that really all that special? I feel like that's average size. Why the HELL would he tell us this? All his friends just kind of sat there. I cannot decide if they think it's funny or cute or what to talk like that to American girls. But it happened, and at that point, the bubble burst. My enchantment surrounding Jose, Jose, and alll the other men disappeared. And, I am proud of myself to say this, but I decided it was good for us to leave and NOT continue partying with these ass holes.

Sad, but true. I have yet to find a Spanish novio. I really thought one of the hot Jose's would be it. They even told me i had a nice "culito."

After that, the night ended pretty shittily with a walk home under my baby umbrella in the rain. I could not get over how those guys completely blew it........

But even still, I think it was an incredibly hilarious evening. Can't wait for next weekend to do it all again!

Pop (?) Culture

Ok, so this is another rant about Spanish culture, kind of like my last blog. I have realized that there is yet another facet of Spanish society that I just don't get.

A country so far ahead of the US politically and socially and (usually) fashionably, Spain really seems to have issues with being up with the times on pop culture.

Exhibit A: Popular Music

I guess I was expecting this before I got to Spain, but man, do they love them some American music. And I'm not talking about the good stuff. They love THE SHITTIEST American music you can think of... granted, it's good dance music -- Katy Perry, Rihanna, Beyonce -- but damn, they're about 6 months late on the uptake. I love going to clubs and knowing every word to "Tipsy" by J-Kwon... last night, the DJ played a medley from GREASE. Wow. In all honesty, I kind of enjoy dancing like a complete jerk to these songs, so I don't really have a problem with it. It's just weird that they listen to this garbage constantly.

J-Kwon - "Errbody in Spain gettin tipsy."

Exhibit B: Hello Kitty
Hello Kitty says, "Me-ow, I'm back, bitches!"

Remember in the 5th grade when everyone brought their sweet Hello Kitty pencils to school? I used to spend the majority of my elementary-school income at Sanrio at Crabtree Mall, stocking up on pencils, notebooks, markers, and, holy shit, the FRIENDSHIP BOOK, all with the adorable faces of Keroppi (my fave), Chococat, --insert other creepy names here--, and of course, the woman herself, Hello Kitty.

Would you believe me if I told you Hello Kitty is still cool here with, like, late teenagers and twenty-somethings? I went shopping at H&M, one of the coolest stores, and guess whose face was plastered on every pair of underwear at the store? That's right, Hello Kitty's mug is ALL OVER Spanish fashion. I don't exactly know how I feel about this either. I mean, she is kind of cute. On the other hand, I despise of cats. But Hello Kitty has a bow in her hair and walks upright, so she's not exactly a cat. The battle wages on.

My point is that it is absurd that young women, NOT pre-pubescent girls, are wearing this shit and trying to be sexy in it. Wowsies. I guess it took, like, 8 years for it to get popular in our age group here in Spain. I thought Spanish women were sophisticated, but this has proven a strong piece of evidence against that argument.

Exhibit C: Rollerblading

This is perhaps the most mind-boggling past time in Spain. I have been attempting to run here in Sevilla since there are no cheap gym facilities in the area and the university doesn't have one either (lame). Every day, as I am peacefully run-walking down to the Guadalquivir, minding my own business and listening to the Jonas Brothers, I see countless rollerbladers. And no, they are not all 5 years old. I continually see people MY AGE rollerblading around.

First of all, when the HELL did rollerblading get popular again? I sometimes feel like I'm in a 1994 time warp, back when I lived in bumfuck Pennsylvania, when my sisters and I would rollerblade around our cul-de-sac. However, that was 14 long years ago, and in the US, rollerblading gave way to skateboarding and Razor scooter-ing. Here, though, Rollerblading is hot as ever. Early 90s or Modern Spain? You decide.

And it makes me uncomfortable. Verrrry uncomfortable.

I guess my point in all this is that Spain really isn't that cutting-edge on the pop culture scene. And as much as they want to hate on the US, they are definitely picking up our pop culture left-overs.