10:36 p. m. » Another Day...

Let yesterday's date be remembered as the one that involved my receiving a phone call from Cecile at eight in the evening, asking me, who was currently occupied with a just-bathed half-naked four year-old, to come down to the street because the police had stopped her for stealing a shopping cart from a store located about two miles from our apartment. If you're wondering why she didn't just take a taxi, the tram, the metro, or the bus (all very convenient) for carrying her things (which included two bags and a small plastic shelf) like the rest of the city does, especially considering the previously told-about 36 year-old 22 year-old was in her company -- so am I. After speaking with the police officer, using excuses such as "sorry, it's just that I'm so... short" (though her friend, who's now been confirmed as being as tall as me, remember, was at her side), for a nevertobediscovered reason, she made it my responsibility to take the cart to its home. This involved my pushing an empty shopping cart over what were some of the most ragged sidewalks I've ever walked, then along one of the two most main avenues, down which the tram also runs, in the entire city of Barcelona, the second largest city in Spain, while practicing in my head how to apologetically explain to the police that I lived with a very sick woman who had somehow managed to escape my watch and run a goddamn shopping cart halfway across the city. Luckily, I was not stopped by another officer, though upon returning the cart I was given a mouthful from a Catalesian oldie, in exchange for which I offered the same manners I give the homeless freaks who habitually play the (plastic) fucking flute outside my apartment. Finally, after returning home, Cecile, laughing and nearly drunk already, told me I could keep the 1€ deposit. I then went out and spent it on jelly beans -- which had to have been years old.

This is the kind of shit I'm talking about.

5:01 p. m. » GHOSTS

I totally wasn't the one who made that last post, but it somehow showed up. OMG QUÉ RARO. To get right to the point, there have been a few heavy topics I've avoided discussing here for various reasons -- most of which having to do with certain Europeans stumbling upon them. That might change. I'm beginning to not care. Here's all I have for you today...

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7:55 a. m. » blogger ain't posting.....

again again again... it isn't posting stuff. I feel like you have to drown it with posts before it gets off its butt... .

7:08 p. m. » Look the Other Way

My having to log at least something has been realized as 87% necessary. I've either grown too accustomed to strange happenings or my surroundings have at last resolved to leave me in tranquility for some sort of ¿short? while. I'm now the school slut, as I have finally achieved having (as in "studying under" -- I'M NOT THAT LUCKY, LOL) each and every teacher at least once -- one of my favorites of whom, Anabel from Galicia, who, by my observations, more than anything else loves to laugh, can be seen below with a post-it® note pasted to her forehead. I can't decide what to tell you about this girl other than her coming out of the ex-NKOTB-obsessor's closet IN CLASS, but only after squeezing every last drop of a detail out of me concerning me and my friends' once staying outside a Minneapolis mall all of a cold, cold night for an intimate in-person meeting of The Smashing Pumpkins, one of whom was not even present (though compensation was granted by their giving us his cousin to sign "IHA" in his place [mind still blown]), for about one minute. Before today the extent of ridiculousness that this event contained was never made clear -- I have Anabel to thank for the remedy of this. Besides the French 30 year-old who sits across from me's confessing to us all that if he could fight one thing in the world it would be "the cunts" (a statement that makes about as much sense in Spanish as in English), nothing incredibly extraordinary has lately come to pass at school -- unless of course you count a British man actually using the adjective "blokey" in my presence.

6:22 p. m. » Eso no es lo que me dijiste ayer

The graffiti here is always so awesome...



Another example.



mmh9iti4c4r783234++`¡``+

That was a message from Serena... which she says means "because always I'm going to have some money from I push these buttons"

:(

1:53 a. m. » Frenzy

Ok, for the first few days I may or may not play proud dad and post all kinds of photos... mainly of Serena. You were asking for it anyway. Here are a couple more pictures:

Our house from the street... under construction

What happens to her face when I bring up ice cream. Um... I KNOW.

11:04 a. m. » SPAIN DAY; NO SCHOOL

Unnecessity of the week: my new unmistakably gay teacher constantly using examples such as this in lessons: Busco a un chico que hable inglés.

SERENA THIS MORNING

Then with some guy...

11:53 p. m. » New Era

First attempt at international camera phone usage. This should change things, I'm now able to show you photos on a regular basis. ANYWAY, I give you... my best friend in Barcelona... the beautiful and lovely... Serena.... finally.......

3:32 p. m. » Curioso...

Two posts in one day, how rare, but still, this is urgent. Yesterday while walking along the same side of the same street I walk three times each Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, I was nearly hit in the face by a baby pacifier that hung from the limb of a tree. This morning the thing was gone, but after school, in a completely different zone of the city, there was another one lying next to me on the bench in the Metro station -- but inside this strange container. I decided to come home to write and post this as soon as possible, knowing it would jinx any kind of supernatural happenings (and by the way, I'm not referring to my [nonexistent] worrying about having gotten anyone pregnant, if that's what you've interpreted) that may or may not have been taking place. Now this story can't get any better. Sorry.

1:01 p. m. » Más deberes.

En primer lugar, este chico me parece que está loco. En segundo lugar, me parece que tú también. ¿Qué pasa contigo? Es muy difícil ayudar alguien que suena tan idiota. Escúchame. Si yo fuera tú, me olvidaría de ese burro inmediatamente porque es evidente que no le interesas. En realidad, deberías olvidar el sexo masculino completamente, pero seguramente es demasiado pedir a alguien que ya tiene tantos problemas. Además, te sugeriría que, si quieres a tu novio de verdad, yo le pediría que rompiera contigo por el bien de él. O quizá no. Porque él era lo bastante estupido como para quedarse contigo después de lo que pasó, entonces, probablemente tu eres lo que se merece. Por último, te aconsejaría que pararas de escribir cartas que molestan a la mayoría de la población. Gracias.

Confidential to Kat: You might just go with the obvious...

4:05 p. m. » Mi culpa.

As the comments have built up on the most previous post, something makes me think I should create another. Here's the problem: lately there have been more reasons than ever to submit, but I'm afraid I'm presently convinced that my readership, as a general lot, have not the, well, I don't know, to handle what would be read -- last night's headbutting with a certain person (and an afterthought: as well as the everlasting that with the idea of irony) is a (are) too perfect example(s) of this. For more instances, ask me about our unit on compliments, Happy Miércoles with the students and Marga, or the incident concerning cocaine that occured with the proprieter of the cliché Catalesian restaurant (not as guay as it sounds). I've been moved up in shool again. I'm now in Book 4. I should just be starting Book 2. One of my new teachers is a complete homosexual, loves bringing a pair of lesbians into every example he conjures (in spite of the butch Australian in our class?), answers most questions with a high pitched, too long laugh, and evidently enjoys displaying his belly. The other is from Galicia, and sounds like she's singing as she speaks. Everything has changed. I've been so lucky as to meet and befriend several actual Spaniards; with and as this, I have finally been introduced, properly, to Spain -- or at least to Catalonia. The two main players here are Eva and Oscar. Though it was weeks ago, the first few days spent with each of them were a sort of rough. The first thing Oscar asked me was if I liked soccer. The next thing he asked was if I liked motorcycles. You can imagine the immediate outlook we had on any kind of friendship. Nothing incredibly terrible or exciting happened with Eva at first, other than my understanding her to say that she's a prostitute (my fault) and her understanding me to say (see some previous post) that I have a Pakistani gay lover (my fault as well). Though many other large changes have come to pass, I'd have to say one of the most important is that I've been wearing my pants much much lower.

3:07 a. m. » Gerundio

It's like 3 am. WTFs. Where do I start? Switching classes again? Meeting the Dutch strongman with the eye that twitches? Multiple instances of hanging out with the Spanish dude who resembles Ross from FRIENDS in an excessive manner? Receiving the note from Marga? The French 40 year-old in the wheelchair (with the attractive and gratuitously tattooed/pierced 22 year-old girlfriend hanging all over him the entire time) staying at our home and also spilling beer all over me (20 minutes before my boarding the metro and sitting down on a wet seat -- ay ay ay)? Receiving an email from that Spanish girl, confessing her feelings for me? Jesus in the mornings? Vila Olímpica with Cecile and the other oldies, featuring Freddie's freakout? My haircut? The four swiss/zimers sleeping in our apartment this weekend? Moving to a new apartment soon? Speaking Spanish? My camera phone? Planning the switch to yet another class? Mom coming in a week? Sister coming in two? Where do I start? Over. Though each may or may not deserve its own post, consider each story told. Next post will be fresh.