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.

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