after a small chuckle (yes, a chuckle - which doesn't happen for me often. usually it's a giggle or a "ha - hAAAaahh" - which comes from my aunts - or this little "hMMmph" thing, which is kind of like a huff and a "hah" without even opening my mouth - sam and i both do this. this was a chuckle), i move to the next envelope. a pink valentines day card from the family. my dad writes "p.s. don't fall in love." and my sister points to it with an arrow and writes "HA!" ....'HA!' what? i'm gonna 'HA!' you in a minute. it seems this family has mixed emotions about my love life. jordan signs it j*ordan, the * being a picture of lips? with an arrow pointing from it to the words "a kiss." ...hmm.... j-kiss-o-r-d-a-n.... i've never seen it spelled that way.
the last card is my most and least favorite. on the cover there is a picture of a sad chihuahua with a sombrero on saying "adios" and on the inside saying "that's spanish for: sure, go ahead and leave your friends, the only people who really care about you, fine, just take off!!" hahahahahahahaahahah. that's good. Shari rights underneath it, "and live your dreams - we'll get over it!" ...now that i think about it, shari's pretty damn good at supporting my ideas and goals. not saying that anyone else in my family is lacking, there's just a certain energy she brings to the table. and that extra excitement from her encourages you even more.
my dad takes a different approach to this card. he writes, "nick, in case you don't miss me, you may miss the following:" and then precedes to write that weeks entire dinner menu. ham steak & mashed potatoes, chicken tetrazzini, sloppy joes, fillets on the grill, oreo's (even letting me know when they were going out to eat and when they are running out of oreo's - thank you. that was essential). basically, all my favorites. ....well... you think you're soo funny, don't you, dad. ....sometimes i read it before bed at night so i can dream of red lobster or cheese broccoli.... so i can dream of a better time...
anyway, getting a letter was cool. me drooling over a card was not.
wednesday after talking to my teacher about a project - and after her recommendation - i book our hostel in sevilla for easter weekend. because of the festival there (the reason we are going there for easter), she tells me it books fast. then she reminisces about when she was in college in granada over semana santa (holy week), trying to call and get hostels for sevilla. apparently she would call a hostel to ask if they had rooms available and the person on the phone would laugh and hang up. i booked our hostel when i got home.
thursday. a friend tries to recruit me in to going to croatia. croatia? why? but the pictures have me intrigued. maybe? i go to music class. i have not mentioned this, but there is a kid in my class who is always popping and cracking his neck. or back. or whatever else pops. loud. and i have also not mentioned this, but this totally freaks me out. the first time he did it, i stared open-mouthed in horror - and then notice my friend, mike, across the room laughing at me. later, i explain my phobia to him. so thursday, i get to music early. a few kids start filing in - including neck-popper. the seat next to me it open. ....no. he heads my way. ...no. he sits down. right. next to me. ...oh god. mike walks in, a smile on his face as soon as he sees. he sits on the other side of me. "it's not funny," i say to him. "ahh i really need to pop my back. i slept on it weird last night," he teases. "i'm going to scream." fortunately, neck-popper does not pop his neck in class - only a small back pop, which i bite my tongue in order to hide my disgust. next week, mike and i notice he is not in class. "probably broke his neck," i hypothesize.
that night, the roommates and i meet up with 10 other people to go to kapital - a six story night club, which i'm still confused about because i was always told it was seven stories? anyway, it was pretty awesome. level 1: karaoke, catering pretty obviously to americans. when i was in there, there were 3 semi-drunk girls on stage singing "i'm gonna be" by the proclaimers (i would walk 500 miles, and i would walk 500 more...). yeah.. bizarre right? i debate in my head whether or not they choose that song by accident. level 2: main club floor. dance floor, stage with models dancing/posing on stage (for certain songs - i.e. michael jackson - a transvestite, or what we think was one, would get on stage and pretend to perform). every once and a while a machine would shoot a cloud of fog down into the crowd. level 3: the balcony around level two. level 4: a bar/lounge - mostly spanish kids in there. level 5 was closed (what the hell i just paid 12 euro for what i thought was seven levels of krunk and now i only get five?). level 6: low-key lounge that looked kind of like a jungle, lined with couches and beds. yep. beds. plastic but it s
till counts. rumor has it the real madrid team rents out this floor after games. honestly, i think they'd rather pick a place that provided sheets.i have a wardrobe malfunction. see i bought this belt even though it was a little big, thinking it would still work out. it didn't work out. before we left i tried to pin it in the back so it fit me right. i'm not really sure how this happened, but while dancing on level 2 with renata my belt sling-shot off of me into the crowd. what the?!? all of a sudden a guy a little ways away holds up my belt confused. i grab it. jesus... this thing needs insurance... throughout the night, my belt continues to be uncooperative. lesson learned: buy clothing that actually fits. who'da thought?
diana and i leave earlier than morgan and brittany. head home and go to bed. in the morning i had a missed call from brittany. i check to see and everyone's door is closed, meaning everyone is home. later i found out that the girls had not taken their keys out last night, and had to wake cruella up to get in the apartment when they came home. cruella was extra cruella-tastic that day.
friday diana and i go to golden cock with chris, michelle, andrea, and later josh shows up. pretty low key. we talk about how the wine is cheaper than water here, and how technically it's more economical to to be an alcoholic.
chris has been pick-pocketed four tim
es in 3 weeks, twice in one weekend. "what are you doing, holding your pockets open?" we tell him to put his stuff in the pockets of his vest he's wearing. "i can't. they're fake pockets." ....no. we explain that they are just sewn shut when you buy them - that you have to cut them open. and we do so, right then. josh gets a knife from the bartender and i perform surgery. this does not seem to do any good, because the next day chris tells me that his phone and ipod were stolen at a bar they went to after the golden cock. i tell him that i'm starting to think he likes being robbed and i'm setting up and intervention.saturday. coincidentally, i have my first encounter with a pick-pocketer. or at least i hope so. if not, i feel bad. but i'm pretty sure.... anyway. diana and i were sitting at starbucks. basically dead. not moving. not talking. we couldn't get the wifi to work. the sun was shining on us through the window. we had just finished eating tolberone mcflurries (i'm obsessed). ...we had gotten up WAY to early to avoid cruella. finally i start reading an article for my anthropology class. (which really starts to piss me off because it's about what men and women are biologically programmed to be attracted to in the opposite sex. from a man's point of view.)
while explaining the article to diana, a man sits next to me (it's sort of a booth thing). my bookbag is on the floor, right next to my feet. open. but clearly in my line of view. as i'm talking to diana i notice the man is taking off his jacket. and that his jacket is sort of hovering over my bookbag while maneuvering very suspiciously. what the? are you serious dude? i grab my bookbag off the floor and hug it in my lap. i look at the man and stare at him, giving him the dirtiest look i know how (eyebrows arched angrily, scowl on my face, foaming at the mouth.... haha just kidding). and he just looks back at me. i look away and continue to hold my backpack in my lap, checking if anything is missing then zipping it up. he sits there for probably a minute or two, then gets up and leaves. "...what just happened?" diana asks me afterwards. oh, i don't know, but pretty sure that guy was a robber.
not much later i get a text from jorge (guitar guy), asking if i want to jam. yep. i head over to their place. and i don't leave for 8 hours. we take a break to make dinner. we go to supersol to get supplies, and raphael makes pasta. it was good. and cheap. diana and i plan to cook there every saturday for dinner to save money. more people show up and get ready to go out for the night. diana and i leave around midnight. the sport is at it's best.
sunday i don't leave the apartment (except for church - thank diana for taking me). this is the first time i've stayed home all day. with cruella. it wasn't bad. she did her thing, i did mine. around 1, she comes into my room. asking me something. ....what.... i don't know why she talks so fast. she knows i can't understand her. i follow her into the kitchen. (..............this is awkward because as i'm typing this, she's sweeping under the chair i am currently sitting in.............) she points to this pot on the stove and makes gestures and - through spanglish - i come to understand that she wants me to keep an eye on whatever she's cooking while she goes somewhere for 20 minutes. ...oh...ok...sure whatever, i'm not doing anything anyway... i walk over and stand by the pot. "no, no!" she tells me that i just need to come in every once in a while and check it. even better. she's awfully smiley. that's weird. maybe she's just trying to be nice so i'll watch her potion boil. what's in here, anyway? toes? frog eyes? (nope. it was flan. we had it for dessert later than night. ....i don't like flan). she comes back in 20 or so minutes. i go into the kitchen and ask, "esta bien?" "si, si, gracias" "de nada..."
hell yeah, i'm getting that key chain. boo yahhhh.
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