As countless facebook stati have announced, Barcelona is currently undergoing a savage raping of sunshine in the most absurdly arctic degree. To put it more simplier (as my worn out use of the Spanish language has murdered my previous semi-proper usage of English): a fucking blizzard. This photo was taken just moments ago outside my apartment:
¡Mierda! However, at first sight of the falling frozen water, I looked up to God with some misplaced sense of astonishment. After all, there are some good things associated with snow:
But, of course, it only took a few moments of contemplation to kill the odd arousal before the ever-common depressing image of energy-drink inspired douchebagery took over my thoughts:
(Tranquilo. I'm being nice. C(sh)ould've been worse.)
... After a slight break from the rain and an amazing trip to Granada, I kind of figured the things mal tiempo (bad weather) has forced me to get used to* would vanish for good.
(*a. masturbating, b. crying, c. masturbating)
Not only was I wrong, but it seems the wrath of snow has crossed the ocean to annhialate my already poor excuse for skateboarding and laugh at my snow-drenched (an orgasm for techno-enthusiasts) self after tip-toeing behind an umbrella'd old woman up a hill (for I am the fastest walker in Spain).
Apart from lamenting in this harsh Broulder nostalgia, my escapades in the Eurnal (although I have yet to leave España) have been amazing. To sum it up the results are as follows:
kicking miscellaneous jackets on dance floors (thus receiving ringéd slaps to the top of the head in Razz Ma Tazz (pronounced: "Rath-Má-Tath"), octopus eating, Alhambra viewing, David Bowie on da beach boiii!!!, contributing to the ever-present patches of urine in the Barcelona streets, watching Brooks-the-drunk-Texan getting hit with random pieces of pork (*after a brief encounter from creepy Granadian drunks attempting to both pet (not themselves!) and describe the size of their weiners to Sally and Danielle),
(* candid reinactment of reaction to drunk Granadians (+ Jessica))
tour-guiding, being tour-guided, taking pictures of Americanas blackberrying in all times and places, hash-brainery, feeling 16 again, teaching my Señora how to operate a box camera, contemplating the configuration and use of a bidet*, and, of course, pooping and snow.
(*Now with two great uses!)
Primeros Euros:
First Euro Shedding of Tears ( happy ones ): When Philipp-the-Swiss-seal showed me his buddy's (also from Switzerland) new tattoo. Only God Can Judge Me. Life Goes On...:
First Euro Chica Encountered in Lingerie (cont.): It only took another couple of days to encounter Nieves (host mom, 65, Andalucian, Grandchild-obsessed) getting close to the full monty. Upon returning from school and the grocery store, I entered the kitchen hoping to put my queso in the fridge. Nope. There stood Nieves (*see Craigslist description above) cooking delightfully in black granny panties which accompanied her (previously sported) sparkling bra. This brief viewing of backside was immediately followed with a swift run to my room and warming of my newly purchased cheese. Only to be followed by an unaware Nieves, clad in her husband Antonio's favorite nightly attire, walking down the hall, unashamed, proudly announcing that she did not know I was home....
I'll just stop there for now... Ladies n Gents, I leave you with PBT (party):
Bluh.
