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!
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!
posted by sucktastic at 2:30 PM
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