Video Killed the Radio Star

Tonight I was on RNE radio, 100.8.

It was kinda fun, even if it was in Catalan and I was nervous. I got a little tipsy before the show, which was good, but it wore off by the time I was there.

Joe was my co-pilot, and he did an awesome job.


In other news I napped at the beach for about an hour today. I will, in fact, be sad to leave this place.


My life is weird.

Besooo!

let's recap, shall we?

I was really going to do it. I was going to be in bed early. I am in my bathrobe now, and was about to take a shower. I tiptoed to the bathroom and ...

Swiss flatmate's mom is in there brushing her teeth.

I guess I'll wait so they can all brush their teeth. That's only the polite thing to do, really.

Anyway, I want to recap, hence the title of my post.

Going in backwards chronological order:

Friday night was really good. I got home and thought I would have the whole evening ahead of me (good cuz I was tired, bad because it was Friday) when NYC Misha sent me a text saying, "You wanna go to a club tonight?"

I had been pestering him via email, I admit. He's busy, I know, and so am I, but I liked hanging out with him and his business school friends. You don't ask, you don't get.

I sent back, "When and where?" I showered and started dressing when he sent another one that said, "don't dress too casual", so out went the denim mini skirt from Zara and the black flip flops and in came my trusty old black boots and a great pair of embroidered jeans I got at a charity shop in Hayward's Heath for five pounds.

I met up with Misha and a few other guys (yes, only guys) and we then went for pizza where we met up with some more of his classmates, many of whom I'd met before. The pizza was good and some stupid Canadian guy next to me said something like, "There's no way a girl could finish this."

My plate was clean 20 minutes later.

Anywho, we met the other classmates across the street for drinks, I chatted, and we caught cabs to Tibidabo, to a club called Danzatoria. http://www.danzatoria-barcelona.com/ I never would have gone clubbing up there if it wasn't for these guys (And when I say guys I mean it. As one of the few girls in the program explained to me it's about an 80/20 split).

It was fucking GREAT. I know I don't get out enough but this was the shit. The place looked like a regal house but one side of it was just glass so no matter what dance room you were in you could see out onto the patio, which was lit with tiki torches. It reminded me of a beach in Mexico called Zipolte, which is really wild because some German guy in the group had been there and knew what I was talking about. And not many people have been to Zipolite.

Danzatoria was good, the only downside was talking to Lebanese Ronnie. Not a bad guy, but he started preaching a little (no, not in the religous sense) and I just didn't care. I told him when I go out I lie about my name and he didn't seem to get it was no big deal and something I just do for fun. If anything, he overthought it. Besides, he's 35. He shouldn't be talking to me that much anyway.

After this place closed at 3 we went across the street using our free flyers (fliers? i should know, I was a copy editor. But I was a bad one) to Club Atlantis or some such place.

But I would now like to digress. Because before going in someone made fun of me and for that they must pay.

There is a guy in the group, Polish/Ukranian from NYC, among other locales. He thinks he is the shit. I assure you he is not.

His Spanish is excellent. But he has a SPANISH accent. He says "tio". Where the HELL did he learn that? It's really annoying and pretentious. A bit like him and his metrosexual self. Friday blondie was sporting cowboy boots, fancy ripped jeans, a white hippie shirt, turquoise belt, and not one but TWO necklaces of the tribal/bead variety. And hair gel, of course. Did he carry the look off? Yes. Is he physically attractive? Yes. Does the fact that he's full of himself detract from his potential sexiness?

God, yes.

So anyway, we're standing around outside, for some reason he's speaking Spanish even though he's American. I say something and use the word "llevar". He then has the audacity to make fun of my accent and teases me and asks if I'm Argentinian.

No, I'm just not a pompous asshole, that's all.

Anyway, so we approach this other club with our free passes, and for whatever reason they won't let Misha in. It is kind of a mystery because yes, he is drunk, but not ugly drunk at all. And yes, he is sweaty, but it's from dancing. So I don't really know. I guess they can refuse whoever they want, but still. And Misha, just for the hell of it, starts asking the bouncer in English (not even in a mean or accusatory way, just kinda funny), "What? No brown people? No brown people?" Like he's so confused. I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, we snuck in through another door where another bouncer didn't seem to have a problem with us. I held Misha's hand since we suspected it might be easier to get him in with a girl. This club was also really good and the view from the terraza was amazing. We danced a little but didn't stay long. At one point the original bouncer found us and was pretty mad, but there's not a lot he could do. Misha kept calling him "guapa", pretending like he didn't know it was the feminine. I then crashed on Misha's couch around 5 and then spent the next day at the beach.

OMG.

I just remembered. The beach. I'm so glad I'm writing this.

So there I am, minding my own business, working on my tan. Reading, actually. I had noticed a crazy, middle-aged, curly-haired guy of perhaps French origin talking to some beautiful French girls behind me, then returning to his friends on their towel in front of me. He seemed a little weird, but it wasnt't really my problem.

Until the beautiful French girls left; Then it was.

I was still reading, minding my own business, when he starts talking to me. Ugh. I hate hippie foreigners. I could smell the booze on his breath. I didn't really want to talk, but as I was topless and on my stomach I couldn't really get up and walk away. He was all talky (talkie?) and drunk and tried to kiss me and lay on me, and I made faces at his friends, but they didn' t help.

He left. I read some more. I felt something like a bug on my ample butt. I turned to see he had snuck up on me and was placing something on my swimsuit bottom. It was a perfect star, carved out of an avocado pit. He told me I'm a star, I'm special, blah blah blah.

I accepted it and he went away.

Then I went away and set next to two Swedish girls who had an empty lounge chair by them. They understood and said I could join them. Sharif, as I learned he was called, came back. I had lost his star. He made me another and this time attached it to my ankle with a piece of leather. I now have a new anklet. He was still creepy and smelled of booze. I made him guess where I come from. He guessed everything from Bulgaria to Iceland. We settled on Canada. He told me I had to tell him because he was an artist and he couldn't work with something on his mind.

The Swedes left and I thanked Sharif. He told me his friend Lisa wanted to talk to me. She was from Paris. Nice enough, but this was getting too weird. Sharif told me that being near me gave him a hard on, which was rare. He asked Lisa to translate, which she did, with no shame whatsoever.

I have QUITE the effect on men, let me tell you. ;)

Sharif carves shit out of avocado pits. This is his art. He makes jewelry. He lives off it. How, I don't know. But he does. It's kinda cool, but I dunno, forgive me for not being as impressed as Lisa, who he introduced as being like a sister to him.

It is stuff carved onto pits. That's all I'm saying.

I excused myself afte a while, but not before I was instucted to be back at the beach at 10 for a party. Once again, I had no intention of going but it's just easier to get away if you say you'll come back.

I ultimately went to a Meet In event at the Ovella Negra that night. http://www.meetin.org/city/MEETinBARCELONA/index.cfm?Group=MEETinBARCELONA&Rem=2

No one had showed up, though, so I left. I texted the organizer and she had just left as well. But she came back and she was great. She listened to me. She sympathized with me. She said she would go dancing. She would be a great older sister.

A few Germans came, Monica left, and I went with one of them to a club called Moog. It was a little weird. The music started out good. Old stuff. "Big girls don't cry." I sang along. I thought this place might actually be a little original. Then the music got newer and newer and it sucked. And the place was full of skinny punks there strictly for the kitsch value of the music, not the music itself.

I left the German (not a terribly sexy race) there at 2:30 and went home. No complaints, though. The one Sangria at the L'Ovella was enough.

I suck at drinking.

Sunday was the beach and a fight with the ex that had started the day before.

I accidentally emailed him something his eyes weren't meant to see. But he took it okay.

And Think I might have been in a Spanish commercial today, though I'm not sure. There were cameras set up across the street from my building and so I went to go have a look. All of a suddent they yelled "action!" and for the next 15 minutes I had to walk back and forth along the sidewalk with a bunch of other extras.

It was kinda funny. :)

That's it. Shower, then bed. It's only 12:15. Getting better!

i also hate ...

I should be able to edit the previous post, but I can't figure it out because I don't speak fluent:

a) Spanish

or

b) Computer geek

Nonetheless I wanted to add that I hate the radio. I mean, I like music, but as I emailed to a friend earlier EVERY FUCKING SONG is about love or lost love. It's like all 80s and 90s music. Right now I think Sting or Phil Collins or one of their contemporaries just keeps repeating, "We'll be together..."

I kind of also hate Spanish. I go through that mood on occasion.

I pretty much always hate Catalan, not because it harms me in anyway, it's just stubborn and pisses me the hell off. Seriously, give it up. No one really cares that much about your language. Few people even believe it exists until they get here. Okay, so there is a National Catalan Society of North America, but I found it by accident and TRUST me, no one cares.

All that said I'm going on Catalan national radio this Wednesday. I do not speak Catalan. I am, of course, scared, but also kind of excited. We all know I secretly want to be famous.

Okay, maybe not so secretly.

i hate ...

I hate the work they're making me do at this job.

I hate the chair I sit in — it hurts my back.

I hate spreadsheets, databases and the Internet, respectively.

I hate corporatespeak.

I think I might hate PR.

I hate shit work.

BUT

There's a guy in the database whose name is Nacho Rojo. I love him. :)

I can seriously manage to do nothing for FOUR hours. Xavi suspects it. So does my boss, I think.


More later.

late again

It is now 3:05 am.

I wanted to be in bed by like 11.

I will never, ever be a good grownup as I have no concept of bedtime.

Also, I just brushed my teeth with a toothbrush that I am about 80 percent sure is mine. I hope fatigue is the cause of the 20 percent worth of doubt.

I do NOT want to go to either of my jobs tomorrow. If I was a kid I would be whining about it. Then again, if I was a kid I would just skip school like I always did.

I am not very impressed with formal education, especially after having spent 4 years at a university.


More tomorrow, or so I imagine.

Bon nuit!

for fuck's sake

I have no idea WHY I'm still up. I wanted to be in bed hours ago. Literally, that's all I could think about today.

When I get tired I get overemotional. I was cryin gon the way home from work today. Instead of just nap, though, I read in the park for a bit (it felt great to lie barefoot on grass) and then wandered the hood after the sun went down.

Pestered the Ex online a little and then spoke for AGES to my friend in London.

And now I am here and my eyes are full of sleep gunk, or "la gaña" as it's called in Spanish. Don't know what the Catalans call it, nor do I give a rat's ass.

Eyebrows look good but there was no wax. All fucking pulling. It really hurt and it made me sneeze. I tremble to think what a bikini job would involve...

So much to tell, so little time to tell it

I don't know why I'm not in bed. I keep wanting to go to bed at 11, but I can't do it. I just like to piss away my time, I guess.

Weekend was interesing. On Friday night after his gig Irish Kurt and I went to Gracia with his friends. Then he and I got separated and I messed with his head (but only his head) for a while. At one point he purposely got into a fight with a stranger. I left him with a bloody lip, talking to police at about ... 4am? Hard to say. Probably the right decision for now, I think .

Highlights of the evening include:

His playing. I hate to admit it, but he really is good.

Talking to the 2 English girls on holiday. They were prettier than me, but I was not intimidated and for that I am proud of myself.

Meeting Irish Kurt's 4 flatmates. They all seem like really nice guys and I hated to lose them, actually.

Having a Spanaird mistake me for a Mexican AFTER I had asked for directions in Spanish. Then when I said no he guessed Colombian. Funny, he didn't SEEM drunk

Messing with Kurt's head

Eh, I'm not gonna lie. Sitting on Kurt's lap. And finally giving in and kissing Kurt. ;)

Saturday was spent at the beach, working on my pathetic tan. I was thinking about going to Gracia but didn't maybe I should have. In fact, yes, I probably should have. The ex is not worth it. Never was, never will be.

Sunday was a also a beach day. And I talked to my parents on the phone that night. My mom was full of all kinds of advice like, "Don't take that job" "Don't tell people where you're from" "Don't go back to where you used to work" and finally as she had no helpful or CONSTRUCTIVE advice I just spat out: "Mom. Shut up." God, it felt great. She sits on her fat, old ass all day smoking cigarettes and popping pills. She is so far removed from reality that the best course of action would be to do the opposite of anything she advises.

I told my parents if they got me a puppy I would come home. I think they know I'm bluffing.

Yesterday I started working full time, with my paid job in the morning and the paper in the afternoon. They both suck. Especially yesterday. I got to the paper and was made to ride a fucking giant bike while wearing a skirt, then I was asked to distribute papers. Ridiculous. Today I got to walk to a post office in order to discover it was closed. This is bullshit, I should be at the beach.

I did go after work, but the sun was down. This happened, though:
Today on the way home from the beach a man asked me if I knew of any nearby vegetarian restaurants. I thought this was a stupid question because a) if it was a pickup line it had to be the worst pick up line ever and b)what the hell would I be doing in a vegetarian restaurant? Any relationship he dreamed of having with me was already over. Turns out it WAS a retarded pickup line and I just stood there staring at the weirdo while he went on and on and on and on (where are you from? what's your name? You speak really well. Where do you live? You have really pretty eyes. And nice cheeks, too. Would you like to see a romantic movie? I'm breathing heavy because I was just exercising) ... it was kinda sad really. I was just very quiet, giving short, calm answers to his questions, and then finally I said, "good look with that vegetarian restaurant" and walked away.

Why the hell would anyone in the world think that would work? I really, really hate people sometimes.

Tomorrow I'm getting my eyebrows waxed. Should be interesting to have it done in Spanish. I hope I have enough money.

Nice try, Sucker

Today's title is in reference to two different people: My boss and Old man from Montjuic

Today I was half an hour late to my internship which is ridiculous because I'm supposed to be there at 11. Which is basically what time I woke back up after apparently unsuccessfully resetting my alarm. Whatever -- my boss is always late for everything she goes to. If she goes at all. We had an okay day today, mainly because I managed to do very little. One thing I did catch, though, is that there is apparently a weekly "girls night" with women who work at the paper. This is the first I'd heard about it, and I only heard about it because my boss said to another woman who stopped by the paper, "I don't feel so good, I'm cancelling girls' night tonight." Uh-huh. I guess for me it's just been cancelled every week, so no problem there.

The Boss tried to be my buddy/big sister/mentor today when she took me out to lunch after work (something she did because she does it with her bf every Thursday and he's out of town at the moment). She told me my career's going just fine, I'm right where I need to be, blah, blah, blah, she has friends in Boston, blah, blah, blah ... whatever. I see through that bullshit. You can be nice to me for an hour, but you're still basically going to just use me to suit your own needs, like tomorrow, when you MAKE me do distribution for free which you would normally pay €8 an hour for. My god, I gotta remember she is not looking out for my best interests so I shouldn't be worried about her.

Secondly, I did not even bother to go spy on Old Man from Montjuic to see if he showed up for the secret rendezvous I had no intention of honoring. Serves the bastard right for making dates with 23-year-olds behind his wife's back. :D Instead I went to Hibernian books in Gracia, then just walked around. It was really great. You know what? I do kinda like it here. It's really pretty and really chill. And old and cool. Couldn't remember why I can't stay ... then at one point it hit me. Oh yeah, the ex. Had totally forgot about him. Whoops! :)

Funnily enough I came home and caught him JUST when he opened his gmail. Ah hah! Ended up messing with him on the web cam and by the end he said, "I love you princess".

So wait -- that makes THREE suckers.

In other news, Irish Kurt has invited me to his show tomorrow. I'm not that impressed with his supposed musical talent but I might as well go. Should be very interesting, but I can guarantee it won't get as interesting as he hopes it will. Poor bastard.

The day after. Or: Wednesday

As it's only 15:38 in the afternoon this could well end up being a two-blog day. Basically I'm just waiting for a friend to call otherwise I'd be at the beach. Unlike the last few days today has been hot and sunny and I really need to take advantage of my proximity to the beach a bit more. I'm from the Midwest, god damnit. WE DON'T HAVE THIS.

Anyway, I had an okay day. Am trying to become more of a calm, cool individual. I will undoubtedly fail. I would like to be more calm and collected and also more organized. This will CERTAINLY never happen. Today I pictured myself as I was walking down the street -- flat, ugly bangs, old, scratched-up glasses, goofy tshirt, Doc Martens and combat pants. And no, I'm not a lesbian. At least not yet, anyway. But DAMN, girl, how about making an effort? Do the hair? Put in contacts? God forbid an ounce of makeup. And my god. I could buy some clothes that fit. They're all either too big or too small. And I KNOW I'm gaining weight but just can't be arsed to do anything about it so I'm pretending to not notice how, um, volumptious I'm getting. It's not disgusting ... yet. But I know what I'm capable of.

Anyway, the real reason for this post is that our new intern was supposed to start today. She's Spanish and speak fluent English, Catalan and German. Probably French, too. And according to her CV she has a working knowledge of Arabic and Italian, which I don't doubt. Her credentials are impressive, almost frightfully so. I would hire for any big-kid job right now. I met her and she seemed nice enough and plenty smart. More than that she seemed FOCUSED, which is another one of those qualities I both admire and lack. Anyway, she took the job. She was supposed to start at 10:30 like me. Of COURSE my boss isn't at the office at 10:30 anyway. In fact I had a message on my phone from her saying she only woke up at 10:30 and would be there soon.

So, no boss, no intern. Whatever. I don't really care. I'm calm. Well, boss shows up, lets me in, but still no intern. Boss calls her twice with no luck. Figures she was here and left. Possible, I say. Nope. Boss THEN thinks to check her email and finds something from Intern stating that on second thought she needs all of her time to study for her upcoming exams. Probably at least partly true considering how far this girl has gone in school (studied in Zurich for a year). Maybe she also realized we're a bit shit. I don't know. Anyway, so all the dumb tasks I was going to dump on her as the junior but severely more qualified intern are now still floating around on my to-do list. Funny how I'm the least qualified of all the interns and the only one still there. Could this be a sign that it's time to move on ...?

What else, what else. I feel my motivation to go the beach already beginning to wane. Yes, the sun is pouring into my room, but I have to walk like a whole 15 min to get to the beach. :P

Man, see, I AM lazy and unmotivated.

No wonder.


So that's it for now.


Later, party gente!

Dia de la Virgen de somethingorother

Okay, it's late and I have to be at work tomorrow so this will be a quick initial post. Or at least I hope so.

My deal: I've been interning here in Barcelona for a bit and ultimately something happens everyday that I know I'll want to remember. I don't know whether to write about it in my regular journal or my travel journal, so I'll put it here instead.

Last night I was chatting until late with this Irish guy, Kurt, I met online. I was THIS close to getting him to come to Girona with me today. But he was too tired. No matter. I'm not very disciplined, though, so I didn't go either. Instead I went to Montjuic. This is where my interesting day begins.

I was sitting on a bench under a trellis rife with plantlife. It was sprinkling but I didn't mind at all because it was muggy and Montjuic has a LOT of steps to climb so I found the rain refreshing. An older man (50ish) dressed for jogging took shelter under the opposite bow. I let him know it was okay to sit on the bench. He asked if I was German, I said no. I asked where the Mercat de Flors was and he said he would show me once the rain let up. And he did. He had a car and I agreed to get in not because I trusted him, necessarily, but because I know the emergency number here is 091. And it was daylight. So there. Anyway, he didn't rape me but instead kept his word. The market was closed but he showed me where the castle was (GREAT view of the sea) and the Miro museum. We chattted about mundane things and walked a bit.

Of course, at one point he tried to hit on me. Sat a little too close. And TOUCHED MY HAIR, which for those of you who know me is a huge no-no. Don't even think about it.

Anyway, I begged off eventually. He offered to drive me home but honestly, I'm really not that stupid. He asked for my number. I lied and said I didnt know it. I said "you give me yours". No dice. No email, either. Then he mentions that his wife (of course there's a wife he has failed to mention up til now) is a very jealous woman. Jesus, I wonder why. (Men never understand that we don't start out crazy, they MAKE us that way). Anyway, I agreed to meet him on Thursday at 7:30 at a place near Montjuic. LOL! Of COURSE I'm not going to go, especially after he stressed that he would come. If he said he will, then he will, and he expects me to come as well.

Might stand across the street to see how long the old fucker waits, though. I hope it rains. What a bastard.


NEXT I met up with Misha from NYC, a new student at a business school here in BCN. He seemed really nice. We hung out with his future classmates, many of whom he hadn't met before, either. The festival in Gracia tonight was fucking BEYOND WORDS. Really. You better hope I get someone to send me photos because I'm not even gonna try. Drums, demons, fireworks, papier mache, mojitos, rain, whatever. All good. AND everyone in the program was really nice and most just assumed I was a fellow student. In fact, I think I talked to everyone. We all had an amazing dinner at a place called Restaurante Sporting located at Maspons 16, wherever the hell in Gracia that is. Lots of weird, good entrees and TONS of black rice paella. I was starving since I hadn't eaten all day.

The director's husband was a big, burly, mustachioed Spanaird who listened to my problems like the father I never had (I mean I have one, but not one who listens like that) and gave me decent advice. I might not want to take it or hear it, but it was good. And he really meant well. I really respect him for that.

And now I've been home for a bit. I feel okay. I should really go to sleep.

Oh, and the old dude was like missing most (no, not all :P) of one of his front teeth. I didn't wanna judge by appearances, but you know, maybe I should have.