Yesterday I was able to behold one of the most beautiful natural phenomena ever: a complete solar eclipse, right over Madrid. It was a strange thing for me to see. I mean it was nothing more than a black circle surrounded by a ring of white hot light, but somehow to me it felt like a religious experience. I very seldomly have "religious experiences" but when they happen I get into a mood where I just want to create. I wanted nothing more than to go home after the eclipse and write about it, but instead I got to go back to my art class where we were discussing Tiziano's take on Charles V. Later in the day, when the feeling hadn't yet passed, I met up with Lina and was eager to share the beauty of it with her. I started out by telling her that I was very excited because I had seen the dark side of the moon, and it was breathtaking. She quickly corrected me by explaining that the dark side of the moon never faces earth because of the moon's orbit. And there went my inspiration. She crushed my dreams. I was going to compose some kind of cheesy poem that related the dark side of the moon to my life but, alas, another natural phenomenon will have to occur before I subject you to something like that faithful reader. Why can't people let others blindly believe in erroneous things? If the people of the world would be so generous as to let fools believe in lies then I might still be Catholic. Lies are so much better anyway. Just look at Don Quijote (I know you are gonna say he is a bad example because he dies in the end, but he only dies because he is so crushed to discover that he based his life on a pack of lies, had he never discovered this, he might have died with more honor, instead of sick with grief in his bed. And you can't deny that knight errantry, no matter how antiquated and impractical, caused Don Q a great deal of joy. So there. It's like telling little kids that Santa Claus doesn't exist. It's bad karma people, don't do it!) So instead of composing a saccharine sonnet, I became all bitter (because I really hate being proved wrong) and cursed my rudimentary knowledge of astronomy. My eyes even got a little bit watery. I wanted so bad to go home and listen to Pink Floyd and just retreat into a mini depression but instead I had to endure more school. I was very angry at Lina for about 5 whole minutes, and related to her that I am very good at holding grudges, in a threatening kind of way. But I don't think she bought it cause all she did was scold me and tell me that holding grudges isn't healthy. Well screw it, I don't care, I like holding grudges and I am damn good at it too. And she should not have crushed my dreams with her high falutin, fancy schamancy science. Who needs science anyway? Don't answer that. But anyway, I gotta go read up on Don Quijote's latest adventures. I'll keep you posted if anything interesting happens.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
ps- In three days I am going to Amsterdam, and yes, I may even get high for the first time in my life (even if it means relinquishing my title as the only person in my whole family of 70 + people who hasn't smoked the herb). Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Saturday, October 01, 2005
No Toche plis!!!
Dear Diary,
Last night, Linis and I went to have dinner at Sol, but not before she came to my crib to pick up her birthday gift. I got her booze (Habana Club- the best fucking rum ever) cause I am a good friend and to make things extra classy, I got her her very own engraved flask. She was thrilled. Then I made her taste the booze I bought for myself (Limonetto) and she took that shit like a shot even though its a liquer, but I guess it was misleading cause Luz Helena served it in a shot glass. She felt really ghetto in front of Luz Helena but I assured her that Luz Helena is a drunkard so she needn't worry. By the time we got to Sol it was really late and I was passed the point of hunger (plus filled with syrupy sweet lemon flavored liquer) so I felt like vomiting. So I let Lina pick the restaurant. We sat at some outdoor cafe called Picote and ordered some food. The menu was very misleading because it was only pictures and not very good ones at that. I ordered some thing with two fried eggs, fried chorizo, and french fries. Talk about heart attack on a plate. Lina had a similar plate only she had a steak instead of chorizo. We ordered two claritas (a clarita is a watered down beer, but it is watered down with some kind of sweet soda water. I live on claritas.) and Lina ordered a coke for her to pour her booze into. We sat chatting for a while but it was proving difficult because some street performer was playing the accordion really loudlt next to us. I told Lina that I would pay the guy to leave cause he sucked so bad. The weather was very mild last night and I think it induced all of Madrid to get out in the street. It was kind of neat seeing all the Madrilenos out in full party gear. People here are so radically different from people stateside. I don' even know where to begin. But, I digress. While choking down that greasy ass dinner of ours we were approached by some bums. The first we gave him some change and the second we shooed. The first one was funny cause our waiter was like "Come on buddy let the people eat in peace" at which the bum became infuriated and started having a verbal altercation with the waiter. He was like "I don't bother you while you are working, so don't bother me." Then he proceeded to try to get the other waiter to side with him, which was really a great touch because he was complaining about the service. After a while Lina and I decided to scoot. We went towards Plaza Cibeles to catch our respective buses home and that's when it happened. I was sexually harrased in the middle of the freaking street. On the way to the bus some dude reached up and grabbed my boob and gave it a good squeeze too, that motherfucker!!! I was utterly shocked. But there was nothing to be done really, because he did it so on the sly that I didn't realize what happened until I had already crossed the street. I tell you, that has never happened to me in Miami. Maybe at a club, but definitely not in the middle of the street. Damn these dirty European men. Then as I was walking in utter disbelief and sheer rage I saw some girl with her tits out. OUT IN PLAIN SIGHT. Both of them. Not just a nipple either, I'm talking both of her tits for all to see. I told Lina "See, I bet she doesn't get her tits grabbed. You know why? Because they are too out there. Fucking bitch." For the record, she had fabulous breasts. They were not too big, and not too small, firm and perky with a really cute little nipple. But there was also the glaringly obvious fact that she had at some point in her life, been a man. The broad shoulders, brutish walk, and Adam's apple were a dead giveaway. But damn, the breasts money can buy! Ah fuck it, I gotta go get ready to go out tonight. And if anyone so much as comes near my boob I am gonna give em a swift kick in the dick.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Last night, Linis and I went to have dinner at Sol, but not before she came to my crib to pick up her birthday gift. I got her booze (Habana Club- the best fucking rum ever) cause I am a good friend and to make things extra classy, I got her her very own engraved flask. She was thrilled. Then I made her taste the booze I bought for myself (Limonetto) and she took that shit like a shot even though its a liquer, but I guess it was misleading cause Luz Helena served it in a shot glass. She felt really ghetto in front of Luz Helena but I assured her that Luz Helena is a drunkard so she needn't worry. By the time we got to Sol it was really late and I was passed the point of hunger (plus filled with syrupy sweet lemon flavored liquer) so I felt like vomiting. So I let Lina pick the restaurant. We sat at some outdoor cafe called Picote and ordered some food. The menu was very misleading because it was only pictures and not very good ones at that. I ordered some thing with two fried eggs, fried chorizo, and french fries. Talk about heart attack on a plate. Lina had a similar plate only she had a steak instead of chorizo. We ordered two claritas (a clarita is a watered down beer, but it is watered down with some kind of sweet soda water. I live on claritas.) and Lina ordered a coke for her to pour her booze into. We sat chatting for a while but it was proving difficult because some street performer was playing the accordion really loudlt next to us. I told Lina that I would pay the guy to leave cause he sucked so bad. The weather was very mild last night and I think it induced all of Madrid to get out in the street. It was kind of neat seeing all the Madrilenos out in full party gear. People here are so radically different from people stateside. I don' even know where to begin. But, I digress. While choking down that greasy ass dinner of ours we were approached by some bums. The first we gave him some change and the second we shooed. The first one was funny cause our waiter was like "Come on buddy let the people eat in peace" at which the bum became infuriated and started having a verbal altercation with the waiter. He was like "I don't bother you while you are working, so don't bother me." Then he proceeded to try to get the other waiter to side with him, which was really a great touch because he was complaining about the service. After a while Lina and I decided to scoot. We went towards Plaza Cibeles to catch our respective buses home and that's when it happened. I was sexually harrased in the middle of the freaking street. On the way to the bus some dude reached up and grabbed my boob and gave it a good squeeze too, that motherfucker!!! I was utterly shocked. But there was nothing to be done really, because he did it so on the sly that I didn't realize what happened until I had already crossed the street. I tell you, that has never happened to me in Miami. Maybe at a club, but definitely not in the middle of the street. Damn these dirty European men. Then as I was walking in utter disbelief and sheer rage I saw some girl with her tits out. OUT IN PLAIN SIGHT. Both of them. Not just a nipple either, I'm talking both of her tits for all to see. I told Lina "See, I bet she doesn't get her tits grabbed. You know why? Because they are too out there. Fucking bitch." For the record, she had fabulous breasts. They were not too big, and not too small, firm and perky with a really cute little nipple. But there was also the glaringly obvious fact that she had at some point in her life, been a man. The broad shoulders, brutish walk, and Adam's apple were a dead giveaway. But damn, the breasts money can buy! Ah fuck it, I gotta go get ready to go out tonight. And if anyone so much as comes near my boob I am gonna give em a swift kick in the dick.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Friday, September 30, 2005
El Retiro
September 12, 2005
Dear Diary,
El Parque del Buen Retiro is much more beautiful than I had previously imagined. (So that you know, I am utterly fascinated by trees and if you see me staring into space ever, I am probably just admiring the trees.) Yesterday Amalia (our professor) took us on a tour of El Retiro and Paseo del Prado. The streets were dotted by people of all walks of life coming and going to and from the park. Families with their children, dogs, teens, runners: you name it and it was there. El Retiro is supposed to be Madrid’s answer to Central Park, and while this may be biased of me (considering that I’ve never been to Central Park) I’d venture to say that El Retiro is much more beautiful. El estanque (a little pond) alone is quite a sight to behold, but I think the thing that really captured my heart were the trees. Their trunks are tall and massive, but their branches and leaves are wispy and give the appearance of hair. Beautiful, beautiful, trees. After our tour Lina and I headed back to El Retiro to have lunch. We had a nice long chat about love, family, and children. I will be letting you in on more of my Madrid adventures faithful readers, at a later date cause I really should read some more Quijote. But I promise to post more regularly!
Buenas Tardes Madrid,
Grecia
Dear Diary,
El Parque del Buen Retiro is much more beautiful than I had previously imagined. (So that you know, I am utterly fascinated by trees and if you see me staring into space ever, I am probably just admiring the trees.) Yesterday Amalia (our professor) took us on a tour of El Retiro and Paseo del Prado. The streets were dotted by people of all walks of life coming and going to and from the park. Families with their children, dogs, teens, runners: you name it and it was there. El Retiro is supposed to be Madrid’s answer to Central Park, and while this may be biased of me (considering that I’ve never been to Central Park) I’d venture to say that El Retiro is much more beautiful. El estanque (a little pond) alone is quite a sight to behold, but I think the thing that really captured my heart were the trees. Their trunks are tall and massive, but their branches and leaves are wispy and give the appearance of hair. Beautiful, beautiful, trees. After our tour Lina and I headed back to El Retiro to have lunch. We had a nice long chat about love, family, and children. I will be letting you in on more of my Madrid adventures faithful readers, at a later date cause I really should read some more Quijote. But I promise to post more regularly!
Buenas Tardes Madrid,
Grecia
I did not come to Madrid to meet Gringos.
September 11, 2005
Dear Diary,
Today we moved out of Hotel Paris and into our host homes. I was saddened to go as I had made good friends with the bellhop and it means leaving Sol. I took a cab to Calle General Diaz Porlier and met with my host. Her name is Luz Helena. She keeps a very neat home and as soon as I arrived she explained to me the rules of the house which I found reasonable. She seemed very pleased at my knowledge of Spanish and confessed that she had never had a boarder with my proficiency. She then began to tell me about her life as I unpacked my bags. She has a doctorate in Political Sciences and actually worked for many years as the diplomat for Colombia in Spain (ipso ergo: she knows A LOT of dignitaries and famous people). She is from Bogota, although her whole family is from Ibague (where Lina is from). Then I explained to her my dietary preferences: no eating too late at night, lots of fruits and veggies, keep it light and healthy, and small servings. ( I am really having a hard time adjusting to the Spanish eating schedule and their cuisine, although rich and delicious, it is proving too heavy for me…I predict that I will be gaining a few pounds if I keep this rhythm). She told me that she bought me a case of Coca Cola Light (their version of Diet), which I found quite funny considering that the night before I was preaching to Lina the dangers of soft drinks. I told her I don’t touch the stuff and she promised not to buy me anymore. Then she took me for a stroll to get to know the neighborhood a bit better. I actually lucked out a great deal because I am in an excellent part of town (streets lined with Louis Vuitton and Dolce and Gabbana stores…talk about putting on the Ritz) and I am a 20 minute walk away from the Institute. After a short walk we stopped into a bar for the aperitif or merienda which consisted of a glass of wine and a small slice of crusty bread topped with very high quality seasoned tuna, roasted bell peppers, and a drizzle of liquid gold (my new name for olive oil). It was quite a tasty merienda but it left me light headed as the wine was very strong and I am a featherweight when it comes to drinking. Then we met up with Luz Helena’s lifetime friend named Pilar or Pili at a local deli. She is 84 years old and stronger than any 84 year old I know; I hope that when I reach her age, I am at least half as well as her. She was the first female pharmacist to graduate from La Universidad Complutense, where she also received a Master’s in Theology. The lady is a genius and razor sharp for her age. She was buying some very special seasoned olives from a small province in Spain, some Manchego cheese and half a loaf of bread. Later we went to her house and she insisted that we take merienda…although we already had taken one…and she made fun of Luz Helena by calling her the town drunk. For merienda # 2 we had all those tasty tidbits Pili was picking up at the deli (and boy were they delicious, I could have eaten those olives for ever) and some beers, which they call cañas. They started bad mouthing Bush, and I joined in with great gusto which I think made Pili really like me. I really like Pili; she is amazing. By the time I was done with the beer I was drunk. When we went home I was falling all over myself as I tried frantically to appear sober and finish unpacking. Luckily Luz Helena served lunch and it helped me to get a hold of myself. For lunch we had steak prepared in anchovy sauce with broiled potatoes and a salad. I was only able to eat a meager portion, after those 2 meriendas, and I think this made Luz Helena sore because she told me my parents will think that she is starving me. I assured her that they would appreciate it more if she starved me rather than over feed me. After lunch we went for another stroll, this time a 2 hour long one, around the shopping district, which was bustling. Luz Helena took me to the Institute walking, so I could know how to get there and she showed me the Colombian (behind the Institute) and American embassies and gave me some names of people I could talk to in case of an emergency. After hour 2 of our walk Luz Helena seemed parched, so naturally we stopped in at a bar for another drink…if I try to keep up with this woman I will soon kill my liver, but according to her she drinks for health. We had some butifarras with our beer and they were scrumptious. Then we head back home and tried (unsuccessfully) to contact Lina to see where we could go tonight. Instead, I fell asleep, and slept for what felt like hours. I have been so tired these days that when I get back home I think I will look like I’ve aged 10 years. The fact that everyone here smokes wherever they want (including in the hospital!) won’t help to preserve my girlish good looks either. I woke up at 11:00pm and watched Spain’s version of American Idol, which was funny because they were singing in English with terribly thick Spanish accents. One guy butchered the crap out of Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York and the lucky bastard actually won the night’s contest. Go figure. Spanish people put up with way too many commercials, it seems that they take all of their commercials in at once because they lasted for well over 5 minutes and they were the same ones over and over again. I have the Pascual Lacteos jingle permanently seared into my brain. Now it is 2 in the morning and I can’t sleep, and waking up at 7:30am is going to be a bitch, but at least I get to go to el Parque del Buen Retiro tomorrow (Madrid’s answer to Central Park) and I am thoroughly excited about that. I promised to meet Lina at Sol at 10:00am so we can go to El Rastro (the flea market) and maybe have some churros y chocolate for breakfast. I hope I don’t have to see much more of my classmates all over town; it really is getting to be a nuisance. I didn’t want to come to Spain to meet Americans, so I will be making a conscious effort to meet more Spaniards, preferably all the really hot ones I see everywhere…I love this town!
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Dear Diary,
Today we moved out of Hotel Paris and into our host homes. I was saddened to go as I had made good friends with the bellhop and it means leaving Sol. I took a cab to Calle General Diaz Porlier and met with my host. Her name is Luz Helena. She keeps a very neat home and as soon as I arrived she explained to me the rules of the house which I found reasonable. She seemed very pleased at my knowledge of Spanish and confessed that she had never had a boarder with my proficiency. She then began to tell me about her life as I unpacked my bags. She has a doctorate in Political Sciences and actually worked for many years as the diplomat for Colombia in Spain (ipso ergo: she knows A LOT of dignitaries and famous people). She is from Bogota, although her whole family is from Ibague (where Lina is from). Then I explained to her my dietary preferences: no eating too late at night, lots of fruits and veggies, keep it light and healthy, and small servings. ( I am really having a hard time adjusting to the Spanish eating schedule and their cuisine, although rich and delicious, it is proving too heavy for me…I predict that I will be gaining a few pounds if I keep this rhythm). She told me that she bought me a case of Coca Cola Light (their version of Diet), which I found quite funny considering that the night before I was preaching to Lina the dangers of soft drinks. I told her I don’t touch the stuff and she promised not to buy me anymore. Then she took me for a stroll to get to know the neighborhood a bit better. I actually lucked out a great deal because I am in an excellent part of town (streets lined with Louis Vuitton and Dolce and Gabbana stores…talk about putting on the Ritz) and I am a 20 minute walk away from the Institute. After a short walk we stopped into a bar for the aperitif or merienda which consisted of a glass of wine and a small slice of crusty bread topped with very high quality seasoned tuna, roasted bell peppers, and a drizzle of liquid gold (my new name for olive oil). It was quite a tasty merienda but it left me light headed as the wine was very strong and I am a featherweight when it comes to drinking. Then we met up with Luz Helena’s lifetime friend named Pilar or Pili at a local deli. She is 84 years old and stronger than any 84 year old I know; I hope that when I reach her age, I am at least half as well as her. She was the first female pharmacist to graduate from La Universidad Complutense, where she also received a Master’s in Theology. The lady is a genius and razor sharp for her age. She was buying some very special seasoned olives from a small province in Spain, some Manchego cheese and half a loaf of bread. Later we went to her house and she insisted that we take merienda…although we already had taken one…and she made fun of Luz Helena by calling her the town drunk. For merienda # 2 we had all those tasty tidbits Pili was picking up at the deli (and boy were they delicious, I could have eaten those olives for ever) and some beers, which they call cañas. They started bad mouthing Bush, and I joined in with great gusto which I think made Pili really like me. I really like Pili; she is amazing. By the time I was done with the beer I was drunk. When we went home I was falling all over myself as I tried frantically to appear sober and finish unpacking. Luckily Luz Helena served lunch and it helped me to get a hold of myself. For lunch we had steak prepared in anchovy sauce with broiled potatoes and a salad. I was only able to eat a meager portion, after those 2 meriendas, and I think this made Luz Helena sore because she told me my parents will think that she is starving me. I assured her that they would appreciate it more if she starved me rather than over feed me. After lunch we went for another stroll, this time a 2 hour long one, around the shopping district, which was bustling. Luz Helena took me to the Institute walking, so I could know how to get there and she showed me the Colombian (behind the Institute) and American embassies and gave me some names of people I could talk to in case of an emergency. After hour 2 of our walk Luz Helena seemed parched, so naturally we stopped in at a bar for another drink…if I try to keep up with this woman I will soon kill my liver, but according to her she drinks for health. We had some butifarras with our beer and they were scrumptious. Then we head back home and tried (unsuccessfully) to contact Lina to see where we could go tonight. Instead, I fell asleep, and slept for what felt like hours. I have been so tired these days that when I get back home I think I will look like I’ve aged 10 years. The fact that everyone here smokes wherever they want (including in the hospital!) won’t help to preserve my girlish good looks either. I woke up at 11:00pm and watched Spain’s version of American Idol, which was funny because they were singing in English with terribly thick Spanish accents. One guy butchered the crap out of Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York and the lucky bastard actually won the night’s contest. Go figure. Spanish people put up with way too many commercials, it seems that they take all of their commercials in at once because they lasted for well over 5 minutes and they were the same ones over and over again. I have the Pascual Lacteos jingle permanently seared into my brain. Now it is 2 in the morning and I can’t sleep, and waking up at 7:30am is going to be a bitch, but at least I get to go to el Parque del Buen Retiro tomorrow (Madrid’s answer to Central Park) and I am thoroughly excited about that. I promised to meet Lina at Sol at 10:00am so we can go to El Rastro (the flea market) and maybe have some churros y chocolate for breakfast. I hope I don’t have to see much more of my classmates all over town; it really is getting to be a nuisance. I didn’t want to come to Spain to meet Americans, so I will be making a conscious effort to meet more Spaniards, preferably all the really hot ones I see everywhere…I love this town!
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
La Negra Tomasa
September 10, 2005
Dear Diary,
Today we finally got our housing assignments; as luck would have it, I am shacking up with a Colombian lady named Luz Elena, who lives a walking distance from the Institute. I got very lucky. Poor Lina is out in Timbuktu, but at least she is near a body of water, which is always nice. She gets to live with a lady and her 30 year old son, whom she thinks is going to be a fat loser but I told her that there is a possibility that he may be really hot. Still, his age is very unattractive to her, but I say, 30 is the new 20, and I’ve got first hand experience in that department. After our housing assignments were distributed, we headed out to lunch at Hotel Regina. We had some very uneventful paella a la chorrera (with invisible meat!), some kind of fried-cheese-and-potato-tamal-looking-thing that was lard soaked, and some patatas. I dumped half a bottle of olive oil into a crusty roll and called it a day. That was some tasty ass oil; I bet if it weren’t detrimental to my health, I’d be able to drink it straight out of the bottle. The dessert was very pretty and the first bite was scrumptious, but subsequent bites proved sickeningly sweet. So I put it aside. Afterwards we went on a walking tour of old Madrid. We went to Plaza Real and I finally felt like I finally arrived in Europe. We were surrounded by architectural and historical wonders. Though the place has an amazing history and soul, it’s been bastardized by the tourism industry. So we marched on. We saw where Hemingway did and did not eat (it’s an old joke: every bar in Cuchillero says “Here ate Hemingway” except for Carlos and Charlie’s which says “Hemingway did not eat here”). I snuck into a church inside of a convent that is usually cloistered off and I got a peak at an amazing altar, complete with ornate gilding and a fabulous mother and child. There was a rather elderly nun (not the small sweet nuns, but the slap-you-on-the-hand-with-a-ruler kind) yelling at full force that no one is to climb to the top of the altar while a confused looking Anglo tried his best to hide. We zipped across and arrived at a place that is much too amazing for words. I swear to you that once I was able to fully appreciate the beauty of Palacio Real, I was so overcome with emotion I had to stop myself from crying. Works of art such as those restore my faith in humanity, because if such beauty can come from the hands of men, then they can’t be all bad. My heart was going to freaking explode. And oh my god, the trees, the fabulous, beautiful fucking trees, stab-you-in-the-heart gorgeous. Orgasmic. Simply orgasmic. Then we went to Calle Arenal and saw a bunch of juvenile delinquents initiating themselves into the black lung brigade while waiting for some discotheque to open. We also saw the very first chocolateria of Madrid, called San Gines, which is full at all hours of the day and night with all kinds of Madrileños looking for their churro and chocolate fix. Then our tour was essentially over and Lina went to Sol to get some whisky flavored ice cream and to pick up a guia de ocio. After a quick pit stop at the Hotel Paris we head out to the cinema and caught “Princesas” (courtesy of BU International programs) a film about prostitution and friendship. The protagonist has a fantastic ass. The movie was generally enjoyable but it could have ended a lot sooner than it did, and it also seemed pretty pointless. It did have some good lines however (see: “Llenamela de leche”). After that we went to La Negra Tomasa’s (the place I saw announced on TV in Miami that I had been DYING to go to) and a marvelous evening ensued. Lina ordered a pina colada and I a Cuba Libre (rum and coke) our server was this friendly habanera who was an absolute doll. She told me that Madrid has a large Cuban population and now my goal is to find where they are all hiding. Some boys from our program happened to stroll in for dinner as well. I had La Negra Tomasa, which consisted if yucca con mojo, congris, and carne de puerco. It was scrumptious; just like my momma makes it. I think I actually got a little bit drunk today, for the first time in my life. I guess it was pretty fun because I felt like it was ok to be stupid. Then we had dessert, which consisted of sugared fruits and cream cheese, another Cuban favorite. Then the band started to play and the singer’s voice was like silk. Dreamy. He was a rasta looking fellow with a catfish looking face, but not in a disagreeable way. We left the place kinda early (midnight) cause Lina wanted to go dancing, but as luck would have it, it was raining and cold and that just put me into a funk. We tried finding a club anyway but came upon clubs that played “house” y para house estoy yo. Today I was hit on and I decided that I like Spanish men’s advances much more than American men’s because they are openly honest about their attraction while American men try to be all covert about it and that’s downright hypocritical. While most women may find Spanish men’s openness offensive, I actually find it flattering and refreshing. So there you have it, I love this place.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Dear Diary,
Today we finally got our housing assignments; as luck would have it, I am shacking up with a Colombian lady named Luz Elena, who lives a walking distance from the Institute. I got very lucky. Poor Lina is out in Timbuktu, but at least she is near a body of water, which is always nice. She gets to live with a lady and her 30 year old son, whom she thinks is going to be a fat loser but I told her that there is a possibility that he may be really hot. Still, his age is very unattractive to her, but I say, 30 is the new 20, and I’ve got first hand experience in that department. After our housing assignments were distributed, we headed out to lunch at Hotel Regina. We had some very uneventful paella a la chorrera (with invisible meat!), some kind of fried-cheese-and-potato-tamal-looking-thing that was lard soaked, and some patatas. I dumped half a bottle of olive oil into a crusty roll and called it a day. That was some tasty ass oil; I bet if it weren’t detrimental to my health, I’d be able to drink it straight out of the bottle. The dessert was very pretty and the first bite was scrumptious, but subsequent bites proved sickeningly sweet. So I put it aside. Afterwards we went on a walking tour of old Madrid. We went to Plaza Real and I finally felt like I finally arrived in Europe. We were surrounded by architectural and historical wonders. Though the place has an amazing history and soul, it’s been bastardized by the tourism industry. So we marched on. We saw where Hemingway did and did not eat (it’s an old joke: every bar in Cuchillero says “Here ate Hemingway” except for Carlos and Charlie’s which says “Hemingway did not eat here”). I snuck into a church inside of a convent that is usually cloistered off and I got a peak at an amazing altar, complete with ornate gilding and a fabulous mother and child. There was a rather elderly nun (not the small sweet nuns, but the slap-you-on-the-hand-with-a-ruler kind) yelling at full force that no one is to climb to the top of the altar while a confused looking Anglo tried his best to hide. We zipped across and arrived at a place that is much too amazing for words. I swear to you that once I was able to fully appreciate the beauty of Palacio Real, I was so overcome with emotion I had to stop myself from crying. Works of art such as those restore my faith in humanity, because if such beauty can come from the hands of men, then they can’t be all bad. My heart was going to freaking explode. And oh my god, the trees, the fabulous, beautiful fucking trees, stab-you-in-the-heart gorgeous. Orgasmic. Simply orgasmic. Then we went to Calle Arenal and saw a bunch of juvenile delinquents initiating themselves into the black lung brigade while waiting for some discotheque to open. We also saw the very first chocolateria of Madrid, called San Gines, which is full at all hours of the day and night with all kinds of Madrileños looking for their churro and chocolate fix. Then our tour was essentially over and Lina went to Sol to get some whisky flavored ice cream and to pick up a guia de ocio. After a quick pit stop at the Hotel Paris we head out to the cinema and caught “Princesas” (courtesy of BU International programs) a film about prostitution and friendship. The protagonist has a fantastic ass. The movie was generally enjoyable but it could have ended a lot sooner than it did, and it also seemed pretty pointless. It did have some good lines however (see: “Llenamela de leche”). After that we went to La Negra Tomasa’s (the place I saw announced on TV in Miami that I had been DYING to go to) and a marvelous evening ensued. Lina ordered a pina colada and I a Cuba Libre (rum and coke) our server was this friendly habanera who was an absolute doll. She told me that Madrid has a large Cuban population and now my goal is to find where they are all hiding. Some boys from our program happened to stroll in for dinner as well. I had La Negra Tomasa, which consisted if yucca con mojo, congris, and carne de puerco. It was scrumptious; just like my momma makes it. I think I actually got a little bit drunk today, for the first time in my life. I guess it was pretty fun because I felt like it was ok to be stupid. Then we had dessert, which consisted of sugared fruits and cream cheese, another Cuban favorite. Then the band started to play and the singer’s voice was like silk. Dreamy. He was a rasta looking fellow with a catfish looking face, but not in a disagreeable way. We left the place kinda early (midnight) cause Lina wanted to go dancing, but as luck would have it, it was raining and cold and that just put me into a funk. We tried finding a club anyway but came upon clubs that played “house” y para house estoy yo. Today I was hit on and I decided that I like Spanish men’s advances much more than American men’s because they are openly honest about their attraction while American men try to be all covert about it and that’s downright hypocritical. While most women may find Spanish men’s openness offensive, I actually find it flattering and refreshing. So there you have it, I love this place.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Booze Initiate
September 8, 2005
Dear Diary,
Day two was filled with activity, but of a less agitated kind. We spent the day at el Instituto. Afterwards we went to the photo shop and had a lovely chat with the attendant, who was quite a friendly fellow. Then we headed to El Corte Ingles, in search of adapters and ran into some gringas from our program who were giving the attendant a hard time. He was very patient with them, however. I am convinced that the Spanish are a very friendly people. Thereafter we headed to dinner and met a nice guy named Matt who actually has a Spanish background, he was great until he mentioned a very crucial fact: his girlfriend. The fish was delicious. Then we went with Mike to Segunda Jazz and we heard Johnny and the B. Goodies rock out some classic tunes. I had a glass of wine that was quite good; Lina had a Cuba Libre and a whisky on the rocks while mike had some cutty sark and a whisky on the rocks. The waiter was amazing as he attended to a full house and somehow kept a mental tab on everyone. Unfortunately we had to skip out on the show early because the Metro closes at 1:30am. We then proceeded to Sol where we decided to grab some tapas and beer. We settled on Café Ibiza where we had some craptastic beer with some scrumptious patatas bravas and some fried chorizo, all sopping with grease. We had a hard time downing that god- awful beer but we finally made it, just as they turned off the lights. I think we were a bit tipsy as our walk home seemed to me sloppier than usual, I can’t tell though, being a novice at drinking and all. I saw La Negra Tomasa and became quite excited as I remember hearing about this premier Cuban restaurant on the news back in Miami. The place was hopping, as can be expected of a Cuban establishment. We made it back home and here I am typing this with a mean case of heartburn. I think Lina is falling in love with Andres, and even though it may not be the wisest thing, I’m really happy for her. Love does Lina good. Well, that is all I have to say about that.
Goodnight Madrid.
Grecia
Dear Diary,
Day two was filled with activity, but of a less agitated kind. We spent the day at el Instituto. Afterwards we went to the photo shop and had a lovely chat with the attendant, who was quite a friendly fellow. Then we headed to El Corte Ingles, in search of adapters and ran into some gringas from our program who were giving the attendant a hard time. He was very patient with them, however. I am convinced that the Spanish are a very friendly people. Thereafter we headed to dinner and met a nice guy named Matt who actually has a Spanish background, he was great until he mentioned a very crucial fact: his girlfriend. The fish was delicious. Then we went with Mike to Segunda Jazz and we heard Johnny and the B. Goodies rock out some classic tunes. I had a glass of wine that was quite good; Lina had a Cuba Libre and a whisky on the rocks while mike had some cutty sark and a whisky on the rocks. The waiter was amazing as he attended to a full house and somehow kept a mental tab on everyone. Unfortunately we had to skip out on the show early because the Metro closes at 1:30am. We then proceeded to Sol where we decided to grab some tapas and beer. We settled on Café Ibiza where we had some craptastic beer with some scrumptious patatas bravas and some fried chorizo, all sopping with grease. We had a hard time downing that god- awful beer but we finally made it, just as they turned off the lights. I think we were a bit tipsy as our walk home seemed to me sloppier than usual, I can’t tell though, being a novice at drinking and all. I saw La Negra Tomasa and became quite excited as I remember hearing about this premier Cuban restaurant on the news back in Miami. The place was hopping, as can be expected of a Cuban establishment. We made it back home and here I am typing this with a mean case of heartburn. I think Lina is falling in love with Andres, and even though it may not be the wisest thing, I’m really happy for her. Love does Lina good. Well, that is all I have to say about that.
Goodnight Madrid.
Grecia
From NYC to France to Madrid
September 7, 2005
Dear Dairy,
I am finally in Madrid. It feels as if I am not really here. I guess the fact that I will be living in a foreign country for three months hasn’t sunk in. So far, I like what I see. The people seem very friendly and always willing to lend a hand. Madrid has all the charm of a South American city with the bustling feel of a major metropolis. The fact that everyone speaks Spanish is fantastic. I have only been here one day and I have already heard more dialects of Spanish spoken than I ever did back in Miami. But I should probably tell you the story of my travels, which really began over a week ago.
I left Miami in a state of emotional turmoil. For starters, my parents were angry with me for putting a scratch in their car and their anger was profuse. I was also having a hard time finalizing my packing as I had lost several essential items and was working while severely sleep deprived. Although I was a bit sad to let my parents go, boy was it marvelous to get out of Miami. My flight to New York went without a hitch and Lina came to pick me up at JFK. There we saw Kurt Loder, who was apparently on my same flight coming back from the VMA’s. Lina drove to Long Island and I quickly remembered why I love the North so much: so many beautiful trees. We arrived at Lina’s pizzeria where I met Lina’s grandma “Lita”, her cousin Diego, the uber-religious pizza guy, and Lina’s mom. I had some delicious, but potent pasta, ali olio. Then Lina suggested we go to see “The Forty-Year Old Virgin” which wasn’t as funny as I would have liked but it did have some excellent one-liners (see: What are we? Al-Qaeda?) I also had my very first ride in a VW Beetle, which was really cool, and it helped to reaffirm my love for small vehicles. The next day we hung out at Lina’s almost all day and we went to the mall for a little while where I ended up buying a lot of slutty clubbing shirts.
New York was fabulous as always. The majority of my week was spent at Lina’s house hanging out with her super cool fam. We did make it out to the city twice though. The first time we spent the whole day there and we ended up walking a great deal. We started our adventure in Koreatown (which we had mistakenly thought was Chinatown) and decided that it smelled too bad to be Chinatown. Then we finally made it to Chinatown (after buying a map) where Lina bought some über cheap trinkets and I some gaudy sunglasses. Then we miraculously ended up in Soho and I decided it will be my future neighborhood (no matter how much prostitution it takes to make the rent). That place is awesome; the streets were crowded with classy 20-somethings in their smart clothes and nerd chic glasses. Hotness. We found some flyers for an orgy and considered what that might entail. Great fun ensued. Later, I made Lina take me to the public library because it is just so gosh darn cute! I wanna work there so bad! Then we headed out to 42nd street, because a trip to NYC would not be complete without a good view of Times Square. There we saw some ABC show being produced with a massive crowd of onlookers seemingly trying to catch a glimpse at a star and when we got close I asked “who is it?” and some lady said “The guy from Access Hollywood” to which I remarked loudly, “Who cares about that guy” and walked off, which really put the crowd into a fit of laughter. I should do this for a living.
Our second night in New York City was a lot funnier than the first, though not nearly as enjoyable. We decided that we had to go clubbing in NYC because we are some bad ass mofos. So Andres took us to Avalon NYC (like the one in Boston) and we paid the steep $20 dollar cover only to find out that that shithole place only plays techno. Who the fuck listens to techno? I’ll tell you who. Asians. That’s who. The place was overrun by Asians. Seriously, I think we were the only people there that weren’t Asian. The place sucked. Apparently Andres really likes that shit music. I was trying to give it a chance, but seriously, have you heard that shit? I think that music would only work as the background to hot robot porn. I can picture it now: buttons, knobs, flashing lights, grease, and the sound of chafing tin and sparks and mechanical voices saying “oh baby, oh baby, yeah” in an eerie rhythm. Fuck that shit. Then these fucking forty year old, ugly as sin, smelly ass Asian men kept chasing me all over the club (not just one, but two). I was pissed because Andres didn’t do shit to keep those freaks off of me. And then I missed Miami. Seriously everybody, Miami has THE BEST clubs. Don’t go to Miami for any other reason, it’s a shithole, but the clubs are sublime because people in Miami really do know how to party. We stumbled out of Avalon (which is inside a church, by the way, and really creepy) at 6am and saw the sunrise on my fabulous city. I motherfucking LOVE NYC. We had a hard time getting that techno stink off of us on the way home. Then Andres told us that his dick is pierced. Can you imagine that shit? Gross.
Here are some other less important things that I did in LI. I went to the Walt Whitman mall, (for rich snobs), hung out with Lina, Andres, his cousin, and Teresa, and watched them get torched up and then almost caught by the cops. Lina was an expert negotiator and kept the pigs at bay. The boys tossed their half-smoked blunt and I later recovered it with my keen sense of smell. Lina got mad drunk and it was hilarious. She kept yelling to the streets that “You bastards all voted for Bush” and kept telling us that she would let people rape her. Her cousin slapped me an unexpected kiss on Lina’s porch, that was quite heavenly, and the next day we had a rendezvous. Lina pissed in a park while there were some strange people watching her and she only knew she was done pissing because of the sound. She’s like “Damn, I’m still pissing?” Lina + Heineken keg can six pack = HILARITY!!!
Then we arrived in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, which smelled a lot like Koreatown. The six hour plane ride wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it, mainly because Air France is awesome. I have never been so well attended on a flight before. Fuck American Airlines. The turbulence sucked though. At the airport I saw a semejante culo belonging to some Jamaican lady, for some reason, it gave me the giggles. Lina and I were annoyed at all the cheese smelling French and their tongue tied talk. We were very glad to get out of France. For the record, I am never going back there if I can avoid it. The airport alone was enough to keep me off of France forever.
Today we were so majorly jet lagged that we fell asleep and woke up too late to take part in any of the day’s activities. So we decided to go for a stroll in the rain and we ended up walking all over Puerta del Sol to Atocha. We made a stop at “El Museo del Jamon” which is right in back of Hotel Paris where we are staying. El Museo del Jamon is quite amusing as it is nothing but hams hanging all over the place, and a sign that reads “bueno para la salud” with an ironic picture of a big fatty shank that greets the passersby. At Atocha we stopped in a bar and Lina had un bocadillo de salchichon and a rancid tasting beer and I had some frituras de calabaza. The lady serving us was extraordinarily nice and didn’t even charge me for the frituras, which were quite delicious although a bit grease ballish. We heard some Colombians talking and enjoying a bit of pot (second group of the day) and I decided that the Spanish are quite liberal about illicit drugs. We also came upon a gentlemen’s club called “Sex Factory” which we had overheard some fellow talking about on his cell and I remarked that “all roads lead to the sex factory”. Lina and I were trying hard to disguise our “Americaness” by speaking as much Spanish as possible, but our accents tip us off as foreigners right away, but I don’t even think it matters much because so many people here are foreign. Along the way we say a Burger King, McDonald’s, KFC, and Pizza Hut, all brimming with people, which eased me up a bit, in case I ever get tired of gambas al ajillo and all that malarkey. But I don’t think it will happen, considering my adventurous nature when it comes to matters of gastronomy. Ok this is long enough.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Dear Dairy,
I am finally in Madrid. It feels as if I am not really here. I guess the fact that I will be living in a foreign country for three months hasn’t sunk in. So far, I like what I see. The people seem very friendly and always willing to lend a hand. Madrid has all the charm of a South American city with the bustling feel of a major metropolis. The fact that everyone speaks Spanish is fantastic. I have only been here one day and I have already heard more dialects of Spanish spoken than I ever did back in Miami. But I should probably tell you the story of my travels, which really began over a week ago.
I left Miami in a state of emotional turmoil. For starters, my parents were angry with me for putting a scratch in their car and their anger was profuse. I was also having a hard time finalizing my packing as I had lost several essential items and was working while severely sleep deprived. Although I was a bit sad to let my parents go, boy was it marvelous to get out of Miami. My flight to New York went without a hitch and Lina came to pick me up at JFK. There we saw Kurt Loder, who was apparently on my same flight coming back from the VMA’s. Lina drove to Long Island and I quickly remembered why I love the North so much: so many beautiful trees. We arrived at Lina’s pizzeria where I met Lina’s grandma “Lita”, her cousin Diego, the uber-religious pizza guy, and Lina’s mom. I had some delicious, but potent pasta, ali olio. Then Lina suggested we go to see “The Forty-Year Old Virgin” which wasn’t as funny as I would have liked but it did have some excellent one-liners (see: What are we? Al-Qaeda?) I also had my very first ride in a VW Beetle, which was really cool, and it helped to reaffirm my love for small vehicles. The next day we hung out at Lina’s almost all day and we went to the mall for a little while where I ended up buying a lot of slutty clubbing shirts.
New York was fabulous as always. The majority of my week was spent at Lina’s house hanging out with her super cool fam. We did make it out to the city twice though. The first time we spent the whole day there and we ended up walking a great deal. We started our adventure in Koreatown (which we had mistakenly thought was Chinatown) and decided that it smelled too bad to be Chinatown. Then we finally made it to Chinatown (after buying a map) where Lina bought some über cheap trinkets and I some gaudy sunglasses. Then we miraculously ended up in Soho and I decided it will be my future neighborhood (no matter how much prostitution it takes to make the rent). That place is awesome; the streets were crowded with classy 20-somethings in their smart clothes and nerd chic glasses. Hotness. We found some flyers for an orgy and considered what that might entail. Great fun ensued. Later, I made Lina take me to the public library because it is just so gosh darn cute! I wanna work there so bad! Then we headed out to 42nd street, because a trip to NYC would not be complete without a good view of Times Square. There we saw some ABC show being produced with a massive crowd of onlookers seemingly trying to catch a glimpse at a star and when we got close I asked “who is it?” and some lady said “The guy from Access Hollywood” to which I remarked loudly, “Who cares about that guy” and walked off, which really put the crowd into a fit of laughter. I should do this for a living.
Our second night in New York City was a lot funnier than the first, though not nearly as enjoyable. We decided that we had to go clubbing in NYC because we are some bad ass mofos. So Andres took us to Avalon NYC (like the one in Boston) and we paid the steep $20 dollar cover only to find out that that shithole place only plays techno. Who the fuck listens to techno? I’ll tell you who. Asians. That’s who. The place was overrun by Asians. Seriously, I think we were the only people there that weren’t Asian. The place sucked. Apparently Andres really likes that shit music. I was trying to give it a chance, but seriously, have you heard that shit? I think that music would only work as the background to hot robot porn. I can picture it now: buttons, knobs, flashing lights, grease, and the sound of chafing tin and sparks and mechanical voices saying “oh baby, oh baby, yeah” in an eerie rhythm. Fuck that shit. Then these fucking forty year old, ugly as sin, smelly ass Asian men kept chasing me all over the club (not just one, but two). I was pissed because Andres didn’t do shit to keep those freaks off of me. And then I missed Miami. Seriously everybody, Miami has THE BEST clubs. Don’t go to Miami for any other reason, it’s a shithole, but the clubs are sublime because people in Miami really do know how to party. We stumbled out of Avalon (which is inside a church, by the way, and really creepy) at 6am and saw the sunrise on my fabulous city. I motherfucking LOVE NYC. We had a hard time getting that techno stink off of us on the way home. Then Andres told us that his dick is pierced. Can you imagine that shit? Gross.
Here are some other less important things that I did in LI. I went to the Walt Whitman mall, (for rich snobs), hung out with Lina, Andres, his cousin, and Teresa, and watched them get torched up and then almost caught by the cops. Lina was an expert negotiator and kept the pigs at bay. The boys tossed their half-smoked blunt and I later recovered it with my keen sense of smell. Lina got mad drunk and it was hilarious. She kept yelling to the streets that “You bastards all voted for Bush” and kept telling us that she would let people rape her. Her cousin slapped me an unexpected kiss on Lina’s porch, that was quite heavenly, and the next day we had a rendezvous. Lina pissed in a park while there were some strange people watching her and she only knew she was done pissing because of the sound. She’s like “Damn, I’m still pissing?” Lina + Heineken keg can six pack = HILARITY!!!
Then we arrived in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, which smelled a lot like Koreatown. The six hour plane ride wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it, mainly because Air France is awesome. I have never been so well attended on a flight before. Fuck American Airlines. The turbulence sucked though. At the airport I saw a semejante culo belonging to some Jamaican lady, for some reason, it gave me the giggles. Lina and I were annoyed at all the cheese smelling French and their tongue tied talk. We were very glad to get out of France. For the record, I am never going back there if I can avoid it. The airport alone was enough to keep me off of France forever.
Today we were so majorly jet lagged that we fell asleep and woke up too late to take part in any of the day’s activities. So we decided to go for a stroll in the rain and we ended up walking all over Puerta del Sol to Atocha. We made a stop at “El Museo del Jamon” which is right in back of Hotel Paris where we are staying. El Museo del Jamon is quite amusing as it is nothing but hams hanging all over the place, and a sign that reads “bueno para la salud” with an ironic picture of a big fatty shank that greets the passersby. At Atocha we stopped in a bar and Lina had un bocadillo de salchichon and a rancid tasting beer and I had some frituras de calabaza. The lady serving us was extraordinarily nice and didn’t even charge me for the frituras, which were quite delicious although a bit grease ballish. We heard some Colombians talking and enjoying a bit of pot (second group of the day) and I decided that the Spanish are quite liberal about illicit drugs. We also came upon a gentlemen’s club called “Sex Factory” which we had overheard some fellow talking about on his cell and I remarked that “all roads lead to the sex factory”. Lina and I were trying hard to disguise our “Americaness” by speaking as much Spanish as possible, but our accents tip us off as foreigners right away, but I don’t even think it matters much because so many people here are foreign. Along the way we say a Burger King, McDonald’s, KFC, and Pizza Hut, all brimming with people, which eased me up a bit, in case I ever get tired of gambas al ajillo and all that malarkey. But I don’t think it will happen, considering my adventurous nature when it comes to matters of gastronomy. Ok this is long enough.
Goodnight Madrid,
Grecia
Sunday, August 28, 2005
What's cooking good looking?,
Looks like you've stumbled upon my very first blog! Like all nascent things, it isn't very impressive, but you just wait...one of these days this thing will look less like a birth-goo covered fetus and more like, well, a washed fetus, perhaps? Give it time though; fetuses don't wash themselves.
Anyhow, the purpose of my blogging is to keep all of you who care informed about my travels in Europe. Those of you who don't particularly care are invited for the ride as well, but remember to keep your safety belts fastened.
I will earnestly try to represent all of my daily events as factually as possible, and in doing so, I know that I may offend some people with delicate sensibilities. To those people I submit this: The times they are a-changing. I am not a saint. Hell, I've tried to be and look how far its gotten me: nowhere. So I'm trying thing a little differently these days. Bear with me guys. If you are good friends you would realize that I need room to grow and make mistakes. How will I ever be expected to learn anything if I shelter myself from the good, bad, and ugly? That's the end of my disclaimer.
For those of you who don't know me let me catch you up to my life thus far. I am currently a student at college and I don't smoke, drink, or have sex. My life is boring. My days are spent dreaming about an existence that doesn't so closely resemble a coma. Recently, I have been thinking about breaking free and living life in the fast lane. I know it's probably not a great idea but truthfully speaking, my life doesn't seem to be getting more exciting as I age. In two years I'll be done with undergrad and then I'm off to library school to become a librarian. Not exactly racy. Maybe I'll become a law librarian so I could work alongside dickwads and strategize a way to kill them all. But seriously, the only reason why I am considering law librarianism is because the Myers-Briggs test said I am an ENTJ and that I should be a lawyer, but since I couldn't stand to be categorized as a lawyer, I'll be a law librarian instead. Sound good? Of course not. I can't base my life on some screwball test, no matter how much psychobabble acclaim it has. More likely than not, I'll become a writer and because I suck so bad I will become a member of the American Writer's Guild for Bums. There we will sit by bonfires while drinking homemade liquor out of a can, mending our socks, critiquing each others latest scribblings on the backs of greasy napkins and discarded lotto tickets, and cursing the day we chose such useless majors. It will be grand.
Looks like you've stumbled upon my very first blog! Like all nascent things, it isn't very impressive, but you just wait...one of these days this thing will look less like a birth-goo covered fetus and more like, well, a washed fetus, perhaps? Give it time though; fetuses don't wash themselves.
Anyhow, the purpose of my blogging is to keep all of you who care informed about my travels in Europe. Those of you who don't particularly care are invited for the ride as well, but remember to keep your safety belts fastened.
I will earnestly try to represent all of my daily events as factually as possible, and in doing so, I know that I may offend some people with delicate sensibilities. To those people I submit this: The times they are a-changing. I am not a saint. Hell, I've tried to be and look how far its gotten me: nowhere. So I'm trying thing a little differently these days. Bear with me guys. If you are good friends you would realize that I need room to grow and make mistakes. How will I ever be expected to learn anything if I shelter myself from the good, bad, and ugly? That's the end of my disclaimer.
For those of you who don't know me let me catch you up to my life thus far. I am currently a student at college and I don't smoke, drink, or have sex. My life is boring. My days are spent dreaming about an existence that doesn't so closely resemble a coma. Recently, I have been thinking about breaking free and living life in the fast lane. I know it's probably not a great idea but truthfully speaking, my life doesn't seem to be getting more exciting as I age. In two years I'll be done with undergrad and then I'm off to library school to become a librarian. Not exactly racy. Maybe I'll become a law librarian so I could work alongside dickwads and strategize a way to kill them all. But seriously, the only reason why I am considering law librarianism is because the Myers-Briggs test said I am an ENTJ and that I should be a lawyer, but since I couldn't stand to be categorized as a lawyer, I'll be a law librarian instead. Sound good? Of course not. I can't base my life on some screwball test, no matter how much psychobabble acclaim it has. More likely than not, I'll become a writer and because I suck so bad I will become a member of the American Writer's Guild for Bums. There we will sit by bonfires while drinking homemade liquor out of a can, mending our socks, critiquing each others latest scribblings on the backs of greasy napkins and discarded lotto tickets, and cursing the day we chose such useless majors. It will be grand.
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