3:26 a. m. » Christ

Ok I can tell you right now this post is going to be badly thought out and terrible. I'm drunk as a skunk and I just got home. I had some kind of conversation with the taxi driver but all I remember is asking him what time it was. He said it was three something. Jesus. Not too late. I spent the night with some Québecois folk or whatever, one of whom I'm certain wants me but she looks like Shannon what's her name from high school and I'm taken anyway so forget about it. She said I wasn't a typical American, whater that means, but I couldn't return the COMPLIMENT because I don't really know many Canadienses. Also I was with a dude from Norway, the Swiss girl, and some other girl with whom I didn't talk. Earlier another American and a German Swiss type were with us. Barcelona. Qué va. I told the Taxista A BOGATELL, RAMON TURRÓ. He kept asking me what number. Cincuenta y nueve. How many times did I say it and how many times did he ask Trienta? OK once. He handed me some fucking book and I said muy bien no se es extraño no se. 6€ later he got me close enough to home and I said aqui aqui aqui es muy bien gracias. What a pansy. I'd wanted to ask Que tal but totally pussied out. Very efficient man anyway. I've had muchas cervezas et beaucoup de vin -- lisp and all. I have to study. Tomorrow I'm staying in. Some dude offered me drugs on the street and I ignored him, ¡then a bum started yelling at the American not to touch his shit (and in French)! What is the meaning of life? Why is the sky blue? How many licks does is take to get to the center of a tootsie roll tootsie pop? O.F.F. tha hook. No se. Es muy facil. Hasta pronto.

1:22 a. m. » Dancing and Eating

This really should have been part of yesterday's post; especially seeing now how uncharacteristically short it was, but I feel a bit obligated to discuss Serena and my dancing just a little (of course, one could then say this relates to Cecile's finally meeting one of our obscenely rich [as I'm led to believe], beach-side elite-like discotheque owning, next-door neighbors, though we'd known their two housekeepers for some time, who, and though I did not catch her name, offered to bring us dancing any time [oh, and by the way, if we ever need drugs of any kind, we shouldn't be afraid to ask]). Anyway, because I failed to describe it yesterday, I will do so now. I assume everyone knows and is in agreement that the site of a small child dancing is one that is of the most queer and undeniably hilarious ever to be seen. She does this then asks me to 'dance' with her (an action more accurately or appropriately described as my lifting her into the air, spinning in circles until my skin is blue and she's rolling across the floor), which I, as the man of the house, deny with an impressive lot of intimidation and force (which is then, you know, conquered by her big-fat-kissing my ugly face and looking up at me with those enormous brown eyes -- blinking).

Upon first seeing Serena, and even there before, there was this fear or expectation, maybe even anticipation, of my heart breaking when the time were to come for my departure. This quickly dissipated as I was dragged through a (in retrospect) brief period of believing to have agreed to five months of having to play the excessively strict and unlikeable disciplinary figure. Now, as I recognize what that time actually meant, the initial (not fear, but rather) dread begins to swell, and at an uncontrollable rate! Her sandals lying next to my shoes! This is all so premature, I tell you -- just a taste. I don't know. This could be terrible.

Today she did the most peculiar (and ironic) thing, considering the situation present with my ex-housemate -- you know, the bulimic (though, for those in the know, the true irony lies in my misuse of the word 'irony,' which was intentional and thus not ironic, or maybe, in some way, was, and has now become a useless knot of some sort). She told me to watch, then reached her finger into her mouth, tapped on the back of her throat, commenced with a string of completely horrid gagging sounds, laughing, drooling. That's my girl! This is obviously odd, maybe normal, like I know anything about kids (foreign ones, no doubt!), but, and I'd made a point (see below) to not bring this up previously, I've noticed that her mother eats a(n apparently!) noticeably minimal amount. She says it's always too hot -- and I'm actually inclined to accept this as the truth (DUDE, I forgot to mention that last week I'm about 10% sure I saw Paris Hilton on the street!) -- still weird! I'd been hesitating to mention this tidbit before now, you see, simply because, if I weren't me and reading this, I would raise my eyebrows and accuse this meager creature of having a strange predilection towards (OK, ADDICTION TO) assessing, assuming, accusing eating disorders (confession! I'm habitually, overly, and possibly insanely mindful of what your, and the rest of the other's, thoughts are concerning me! me! me!). Since I said that out loud, I'm automatically pardoned from it being true.

12:44 p. m. » Relief!

Serena continues to be an enormous delight. We now take daily strolls through the neigborhood or city, stopping here and there for an errand or a site. She will not allow me to cross a street unless our light is green.

As far as music goes, she detests that for children to such a degree that she'll go as far as throwing a fit if the genre is not immediately changed. She takes most kindly to darker sounds ie. The Faint, The Cure, and The Depeche Mode. Her favorite song, however, is track five of The Rentals' Seven More Minutes -- charming for sure. After watching a fairly tale type DVD, I asked her which character was her favorite. She answered by telling me that she wants to be the evil sorceress.

10:26 a. m. » Cigarettes Kill

Today I was, by who knows what, inspired to take what little Spanish I´ve memorized for a public sort of trial run. I report that it was, more or less, a mediocre success. I challenged myself to apply the utmost pressure by approaching (how to word this?) the most mercilessly gorgeous passerby available -- of whom there, as I believe have yet to tell, is an unjust abundance -- and ask him (uh??) or her for a light. After more than several cowardly retreats, each complete with its own ridiculously excessive and unwarranted list of excuses, I settled on a Spanish (semi-)MILF of sorts (pathetically, all the strength I could muster), who obliged, but who wore constantly an 'I can see how trying that was for you' kind of smile on her sun and time leathered unprintable face. I have hence made the decision to immediately, and again, stop smoking, as it is butting my mental health (a topic on which I've spent immeasurable amounts of energy avoiding discussing here of late) even further into jeopardy. On this there's just so much to say. With, and for such a length!, great percentages like these of one's time allotted or left for haunting oneself, even in the presence of familiar company, one begins to feel overly (obsessively?) self-conscious and self-critical, as s/he seems to be the only one (obviously, but you surely understand what was meant?) with whom to be so. Sometimes there is just so little to say. Am I gonna die? Am I gonna die? I purchased an additional three books today, as they've shown to be the most effective distraction from myself. There is always hope my friends! I may make it yet to December!

12:27 a. m. » Three Amigas

Tonight three gay dudes are staying in the house, all of them sharing one small futon mattress (and in a room smaller than mine). Cecile did feed me, before their arrival, the morsel of knowledge that they were going to be, in fact, gay, but somehow I think one of their referring to his scrotum as his "purse" surely would have given away this secret nevertheless. I was asked to join them for tonight´s Barcelona Centre-Ville drunken romp, and thought, "how can I pass up an opportunity like this?" -- but did anyway. As we sat on the terrace enjoying a bit of food, one of them scolded Serena, teaching her that she should stop eating so much salami, because the white spots would turn her into a giant little pig. Later when I entered my bathroom to (LITERALLY) sharpen my pencil, I was(n´t?) surprised to see the Mexican one smiling, staring, and dripping wet, naked in my shower.

10:13 a. m. » The Little Angel and the Little Bugs

Serena was, but after her hopelessly recurring (and daily) morning swing of violent and verbally abusive rage, on her best behavior today; something that is -- I was inclined to say "always," but cannot (and remain honest), as this nature has not yet shown any sort of frequency -- a relief, I suppose you could say. I discovered a dozen or more brownie-sized fractions of styrofoam in the lower-lever bathroom sink today while doing soo-soo -- I didn´t wash my hands. She almost got away with this art project after (again, almost) breaking my little heart by explaining that she´d made it for me because she couldn´t find any more paper (?). I assembled a kiddie chair and table for our little darling, which also fed today´s (suspiciously?) constant chain of charm. I can no longer remember what my point there was (I may have been approaching one having to do with how smart she is or isn´t?), but it may thrill you to learn that I have no fewer than 31 insect bites on my body, and spied, today, a small centipede-like creature in the house, a site that sparked all sorts of speculation and imagery of these gatuitously limbed beasts leisurely zigzagging up and down my limbs as I slept, which didn´t bother me because of how hideous I find them or how much I downright loathe them -- because I do, I mean, really, these thoughts happened to ignite a sort of fire (where that of heartburn more commonly [yet not so] pains) that can only be equated to nothing less than one lit by a fuck-you as grand as finding the bane of your (ever damaging and repressed) high school lifetime giving it to your "virgin" girlfriend in the ass (without a condom) in, say, I don´t know, your own self-bought car that you lent her for the night so she could visit her newly detonsiled little brother in the hospital -- no, what´s worse is that these miniature monsters were feasting only upon my blood, and not the others´! NOT FAIR. I have, thus, decided to buy a new pair of shoes.

I tried to locate my school this weekend by making a "dry run," and only learned that, as far as I could tell, it doesn´t even exist. This is exactly what I was afraid of -- already these tasteless pranks on the only Jew in this entire pointy-looking-peopled city (¿or country even?), and he´s not even Jewish.

Anyway, Serena, you´ve doubtlessly gathered, has been a true lamb, but who, I ask you, has ever heard of a small child who dislikes both chocolate and cheese (a question to which some relative replied, "Who´s ever heard of an American who dislikes both ketchup and marshmallows?" -- Touché! Eat shit.)?

3:31 p. m. » The Friends

Cecile had some old buddies over last night, and they, as it turned out, are potheads. One of the dudes, Eric, can´t drink because he´s got the Hep C. That´s his excuse. Phillipe, another dude, is from Mexico -- that may or may not have been his excuse. Seriously though, he told us the story of why he moved here. He had just proposed to his wife when they were carjacked, and he was held for a $500,000 ransom. They let the girl go after about an hour, but he was bound and blindfolded for an entire two weeks. The reason the criminals chose him was semi arbitrary -- it´s just that his car was nice, and they assumed the family must have money. Anyway when he was released, he left the country. I understand that they later found two suspects, but P had no desire to return to Mexico, even to nail those who put him through so much. His uncle worries that his children will never make it through school, as his name and high financial class are well known. Mexico!

Anyway, througout the night these people were passing a few joints around on the terrace, in front of Serena, which I thought was a bit like strange or inappropriate, but ended up thinking no harm was done anyway I guess. Cecile wanted to make sure that I felt free to do what I wanted, as long as it wasn´t alone while watching Serena. Whatevs! I was too tired anyway. Trying to follow a conversation that´s taking place in both Spanish and French (and with all kinds of different accents -- some people had learned their Spanish in Peru) is hard on the brain -- but not that bad.

I´ve decided that star-p is going to have a proper reunion -- with all the original members. Maybe not original, but the all star players! ALL STAR-P! OMG I´m drunk.

Seriously though, Serena is can be a complete bundle of joy. She makes me laugh from the pit of my tummy, which I never thought a brat under four could do. She´s such a strange little girl! We´ve been having a great deal of fun, but still, she´s a total pain in the ass.

2:58 p. m. » The Heat and the Soo-Soo (In Greater Detail)

I´ve made a collective decision with all myselves to finally break down and buy my first pair of sandals. The reason for my not feeling too terribly guilty about this you will find described below. Now, not only will I then look as cool as the rest of the Spanish, I might not feel quite as hot as I´ve been. I apply and reapply deodorant at least thrice per day -- and this is the shit that´s supposed to be so effective you can skip a day. But to be frightfully honest, and in an attempt to practice at least some sort of optimism (out of extreme desperation, no doubt), the heat isn´t as tormenting as some may have been led to believe. See, the lighter side of this torture (that is the Barcelonian sun) is that I know that I no longer have to fear the temperatures of fury that I am to find in my semi-inevitable final destination: hell. So I can now do all that I please without reservation, for I´m convinced that I´ve already experienced second to worst.

¿Did I mention that the internet Laundromat in which my last post was composed was located inside a mall? ¡Europe! ¡LOL!

I´ve experienced my first sunburn in about five years. The pain wasn´t too bad until Serena decided to (accidentally) drag her fingernails across my forehead. But really, I´m okay. At least that place was already hurting -- as opposed to those where she´s left the rest of her marks.

It´s official though, Serena has seen me without a shirt on. She asked me to "remove" my pantalones as well so she could see my zee-zee, but I refused. She told me that she could see my tee-tees. She also informed me that my nipples are small, unlike her mother´s, whose are big. The information was so incredibly unnecessary, but appreciated as a warning nonetheless.

I assume it´s normal for her age, but this child is obsessed with toilet-type body exercises. She constantly asks if I´m doing poopoo, and reminds me that when I do, I should tell her (which I do not). No matter if they concern anything from Peter Pan to poopoo, this kid´s demands are out of hand. More examples: today she told me she wanted me to do soo-soo and poopoo on her face. If she keeps this up, she might be able to make some money one day -- I understand there is a market for this kind of thing. Anyway, she refuses to shit on the toilet, though she´s perfectly able, and so has her mother dress her in a diaper for ten minutes, while she sits in the livingroom and gets the job done. At first she´d demand that I leave the room, but has reached the comfort zone of simply and constantly reminding me that she is, in fact, doing poopoo. As far as soo-soo goes, she still makes sure that I do not watch. This is not a problem for me. She does, however, often attempt to watch me. Though I´m not permitted to be present for her widely anounced piss sessions, she now insists on my being there during her baths.

This morning I discovered her sitting in her room naked, and she refused to let me dress her. She wanted mama to do it -- and would wait for her. Fine. I came back ten minutes later and she´d, of course, changed her mind -- though, come to think of it, and in her defense, wanting to spend the entire day naked in one´s bedroom in such a climate is perfectly understandable.

2:48 p. m. » Barcelona: Part Two

It's hot here. I mean really. From the moment I wake up until the one I fall asleep I'm sweating -- and in between the vice versa as well. I don't wear socks or undershirts anymore. I bought a pack of Gauloises for some sake, and smoking is still incredibly dirty. Awesome!

I just passed a Miniature Schnauzer on the street, and I was going to touch it, but I was afraid its master might try talking to me. I don't understand Spanish yet, but I've begun solo studying. I bought this book that requires a lesson completed each day. I've had it for three days and I'm on lesson 17. This lesson touches the imperfect tense, and I'm thinking I might be taking it all a little too quickly. Classes start in another couple of weeks. My French is still dece. I can understand when Cecile yells at Serena, but I still can't understand the girl's little story books!

I'm in a laundromat right now, and there's an Irish family in here doing laundry. One of the kids (didn't) yell U2 IS AWESOME!!!

Serena in getting better with me. We've had a lot of fun, which is a relief, because she was an absolute nightmare for a while there. She has a little Kenyan accent when she speaks English, and she never says anything quite right. "I can have it?" "You are doing what?" She learned English in Africa, so sometimes she uses Swahilian words unknowingly. For instance, taking a piss is "soo-soo." Her mother is exactly as expected -- fast paced and laid back. I think this is going to be an easy and worthwhile lot of months.

I just got an email from a friend, boasting that he hadn't written in months because he'd been travelling Europe and will continue doing so until the end of Summer. Coincidence! He, kids, by the way, was the original drummer for Star-P (well not exactly, but he's the one on the recordings), and also a co-traveller another time I was over here, so hopefully he will check his email soon, and we'll be able to see each other.

I'm thinking of picking up some absinthe. In Moulin Rouge, Kylie Minogue appeared as a pixie, and seeing as Serena's as obsessed as she is with Peter Pan, constantly reminding me that if I see him I should tell him this or that, there's a good chance SHE, KM, might show up.

I'm thinking of taking up Japanese. If anyone knows a good book, let me know.