Pondering the Post-Humous Powerpoint on Thought Catalog

I just wrote an article about a weird professor I had in Spain, my delusions of grandeur, and death!
Check it out on Thought Catalog: Pondering the Post-Humous PowerPoint.

Blog #100: Cádiz, Coming Home, and Cat Sedatives

Guess what!

This is my 100th blog. 

I was going to try and do or write something awesome, but life is just too crazy for me to be that creative, however the month is slowly taking shape and making a tiny bit of sense. Chaotic, stressful, transitional sense, but still, something like certainty is slowly creeping into July.

For starters, Gypsy may actually be coming home with me after all. My cat-loving aunt got wind of my pickle and has offered to help out, so now I've re-commenced the kind of slow, confusing, electronic communications process of talking to animal shipping people and figuring out how it's going down. It's simultaneously a huge relief, because I'm so happy to be bringing him home, but also a huge stress, because the process is confusing and the people aren't extremely helpful, and because it's changed all my semi-formulated, half-assed plans for my last little stretch of time here. Which is coming to a close, very, very fast.

The new plan is something like this: stay in Granada, in my house with Gyps and Borja until the 12th, then bum a ride with Borja and friends to Cádiz, where he's from, meet his fambam, see some stuff, hit up a little festival for a couple days, probably be a beach bum for a little, then try and get a rideshare on the 20th or so back to Granada, be a homeless cat person at Mauna's house for my last few days, and then rideshare or bus (potentially sedating my cat and sneaking him onto said bus...) to Madrid to catch my 11am flight from Madrid back to home sweet San Francisco, where my lover will be waiting with burritos in hand. And from there it looks like we may be headed to the woods, potentially escaping my reverse culture shock and despair by camping with mom, Uly, Casey and hopefully Kelsey for a couple days. I agreed to this without thinking about what to do with Gypsy, but I also recently bought him a harness and leash, so maybe he'll be chillin. So far he doesn't seem to give a fuck, even though Borja and Guille won't stop making fun of him and warning me that I'm going to give him a complex.

Look how many fucks I give about my cat harness.

Guys, I'm gonna be home in 19 puny days. This is incomprehensibly awesome and terrible. I don't wanna go home, but I can't wait to go home. Shit is strange. I've skipped a ton, but that's all for now. I have to go buy cat sedatives.

Too soon June.

May was mayhemic. Yup, not a word, but we all saw that coming, no? Kim's visit was fucking epic, we ran around with couchsurfers, boogied it up at the Booga club, drank wine at the huerto and played with puppies, caught a ride with Alberto (on the back of his motorcyle!) to a crazy rave party in a magical pine forest where we become polar bear and kitty cat and danced our souls off, trekked to the Quilombo and got our mothafuggin Drum&Bass on, we had tasty tapas and long talks and all time flew by far too fast. She was my last solid excuse to not study, as finals are fast approaching (first on is the 14th, aghhhh) but then the feria had to come to town, and seeing as it's a cultural experience and whatnot, I had to go. And I had to rage my face off in the punky/hippy tent until like 7am.

Oh yeah, you think the fair is for riding rides and eating candy? Well, we did that, too, of course, but this is Spain, so everything comes with a side of loud music and alcoholism. Their fair includes discoteca tents, and that shit doesn't close down until 5 or 6 or so. Naturally, I set my bag down like a dumb ass and all my shit got stolen. Goodbye bag, wallet and money and credit card, keys, fourth or fifth stupid goddamn cell phone, cracked screen Frankenstein ass iPhone, house keys, favorite leopard leggins, red bandana, and sweatshirt! Spain is teaching me so many lessons about the non-importance of physical objects, eh? Shit could be much worse, don't y'all fret.

In other news, I've semi-certainly decided to try and find Gypsy a good home here in Spain because of all sorts of flight fuckery that is too tedious to get into. Basically they want to charge me 400+ euros to have him transported and he wouldn't get to travel with me so who knows what those frightening money hungry fucks will do with him for those grueling 16+ hours of travel? Much less trauma to hand him off to someone who is (almost) as capable as loving him as me. Bummer, but, that's how it goes. Anyway, I'm supposed to be studying right now, which is obviously why I am writing this long overdue post instead. Exams end July 4th ('merica, fuck yeah...) and then I will hopefully trot over to Germany and take a gander, maybe dip a toe in Denmark, who knows, planning is not really my strong point. I'm giving myself to destiny. Or whatever. But that's about it, folks. No flight home QUITE yet, still wanna make sure my kittles is taken care of before taking off, but I aim to be back in August.

You have no idea (unless you do) how fucking weird it is to watch this trip come to a close. So many mixed feelings. I'm super fucking jazzed to get back to my boy, my puppy, the fambam, the redwoods, the food. But it's also a little like being torn in half. So much love for the place I've created for myself here, it's definitely a home. But, gotta keep on flowing.

One More Weekend

Mellow late night pancake dinner, the Alhambra a'glow perched up in front of Mauna's terrace, tank top weather, sweating and searching for Fall classes, living room full of bare feet, Borja and his Italiana in aprons, beer and nisperos, tart orange fruit with thin skin and glossy chestnut seeds, shade in the huerto, a dog named Pulga (Flea!), hacky sack wars, dashing around at dusk, rabbit squeal at dinner, poor thing half-limp, Gato as fat and sleepy-eyed as ever, hot sauce, salad, police and personal space, borrachera and malabares, Pedro Antonio, girls with bangs and cigarettes, los 15 gatxs, dance, dance, surrender to the ridiculous, shadowy faces, free beer, stumble home, five minute bench break (vagabunda!) morning resaca, transnational delirium with Kim (5 days now!), bunny sized heart attack, water-soaked terraza, march down Gran Vía, dogs and big happy posters of protest, dancing foot steps and shaved heads, hot cement, the 99%, education, health, the sun slips away to the sounds of crackling megaphone cries, back at Adri's the lights are red, the music loud, my eyes are heavy, Saturday sun as hot as Hell, four pm rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, litro for breakfast, sweating on the bus, Vico tells me he doesn't want to be American, listen to American music, quick sandwiches, Google maps, exploding beer, up the hill (sweat!), pine needles under my feet, roving in the dark, muddy legs and sleepy eyes, headless bird surprise...

Let the Mayhem Begin

Alright, it's been a while since I've sat down and written something about what exactly I've been doing these days. Here's what's been going on:

My house is still wonderful, and it's more of a BroMansion than ever, since yet another dude has taken to inhabiting our basement, but he's also a mega chiller; David's long-haired juggling friend, Guillermo. He's older and cleaner than everyone else. A while back Matteo found a kitten in a trashcan (and when I say kitten I mean eyes-still closed, so small I thought it was a hamster, kitten) and we all become a like four-headed cat mama and fed him with a little squirty thing like a billions times a day, UNTIL: one fateful day we took him to the Huerto de Carlos V, because no one was home to take care of him, and I ran into Alberto, a jolly dreaded festival friend we made at the Dragón, whose housemate really wanted a teensy kitten. So we handed him off right there and then. Thank god he didn't end up as the fifth animal in our furry family; it's already impossible to cook without eating hair in this house. We plan on visiting him someday soon, though.

What else? A few weeks ago one of the biggest music festivals in Spain, el Viña Rock, took place in Villarrobledo, about a four hour drive North of Granada. The actual festival was quite expensive, but since Spaniards are awesome, they tend to set up the "anti" festival, or in other words, a free electronic rave fest, right outside...why don't we do this, California? Anyway, Leon, Adam, Carlos, Jarir and I rented a car and headed over. It rained ALL weekend, but we had an amazing time.

Picture: rain, mud, my polar bear hat (muddy), face paint, bodybuzzing speakers, thunder, lightening, short-lived, weather-defying nudity, vodka, muddy boots, muddy tent, muddy car, cereal out of the box and rain-soggy bread, one precious avocado (no knife), beer, star stickers (a gift from a fairy with a glowing wand!), strange coincidences and shared acquaintances, the thizzle dance, goosebumps, shit-smeared Port-o-Potties and bared asses in the field of stubby bushes, huge tarps billowing over the sweaty gape-faced masses, that collective stomp with the drop, bonfires, lakes of mud, giant pupils under sweeping colored lights, three hour sleep sessions cramped up in the front seat of the car, losing my third phone, losing Adam (who we recovered, unlike the phone), and then Monday morning deliriously scrubbing the seats of the car, vacuuming up the ashes, the roaches, gathering soggy brown articles of clothing, eating oranges and melting into couches, into bed. Twelve hours of recovery sleep. And then, in Carlos' case, fever.

Since then I've been in quite a mellow mode (understandably, right?) Recently had some couch surfers by- German and Finnish- and took them tapa-ing, strolled around the Albaicín, showed them the Huerto where I stopped briefly and had my face painted and befriended a gorgeous Australian Shepard and a hairy-chested shirtless old English hippy man. I also now know how to say "laughing sausage" in Finnish.

This is the last month of class, and I've quite honestly been a horrible slacker. It's become quite clear that all  my scholarly motivation is based on an actual interest in learning, something that is not really an option in this University system. Anyway, the slacking is at least half due to the holidays and strikes that have knocked out probably like 50% of the classes I would have had these past months. (For example,  I'm not at school right now because of striking...) But classes end soon and then I have June to "study" and exams at the end of June, beginning of July.

In other news I'm shitting bricks of anticipation and glee because my babygirl Kimmykins is coming to see me in 9 short days! Balls Almighty, it's gonna be a frolic and a half! I don't really have plans for June or July, but I want to go somewhere at some point... I'm kind of just waiting for the adventures to manifest themselves- they always do! Vin has mentioned planning some sort of roadtrip, to Poland, for example, and I also really want to go to Germany (there's apparently an amazing festival near Hamburg in June!), and Ireland is also high on my list... This world is so big and beautiful, I just don't have time to tackle it all, but I suppose this is really only the beginning.

May is gorgeous and sunny and I love it. I've started doing yoga on the terrace, and reading on the terrace, and generally living on the terrace. Three hurrays for sunscreen!

California, I do miss you, despite all the shameless fun I've been having. I can't believe I'll be back "home" in three short month! I hope you guys are all prepared to burrito binge with me, to Boardwalk our faces off, to embark on facepainted frolics, get our fresh produce on at Twin Palms Ranch, spazz out at the dog beach with my flufferbutt and my tan man, get some three am nacho fries at Saturn, be critters in the Meekerite woods, and I guess take a peek at some American bars for the first time in my life (unless you count the Jury Room in Santa Cruz...I don't.) I also hope y'all don't expect me to come back fashionable and cultured-- quite the contrary; Granada has cultivated the wild child in me more than ever!

Anyway, I take my leave to try and get some useful things done right quick before heading to Mauna's for breakfast-for-dinner tonight, hitting up a screening of También la Lluvia at some bar and maybe checking out a concert/party at a nearby squat on Friday, and who the hell knows what else! ¡Hasta pronto, bitches!

Being Bullied

So, this blog is about something that actually happened to me a few months ago. It was a pretty intense experience, but also kind of weird and embarrassing and I put off writing about it for a while, and then when I did finally write about it, promptly forgot about it in the back of my notebook. Today, in my Children's Literature class, we discussed a book called Juul, about a boy who is bullied and ultimately mutilates his body piece by piece in a search for acceptance. It was one of the most intense things I've ever read, and it made me feel compelled to share this. I may no longer be a child, but this was definitely a unique experience for me, and I think there is something to be learned from it.

 

I was walking home with a feeling like iron in my bones; I don’t remember why. I came up the hill, heaved a deep breath, turned right into the twisting narrow streets where during the holidays we heard the incessant boom of dynamite, where a singed bath tub has been sitting for weeks, where once a group of kids burned a chair and left its stinking carcass in the street. I heard someone laugh, it was loud, childish. I turned down a street, there was a group of kids, teenaged girls and a chubby soft-faced boy; the boy was in the street, stepped backwards as I turned the corner and turned to make an ugly gaping face at me. He made a harsh braying sound, and I gave him a kind of skeptical half smile, the tense look that draws up my eyebrows, and kept walking. The boy stepped in front of me. I tried to edge around him, and the girls poured out all around me in this awkward surreal kind of stream. I was looking down at them, they were either young or small or both and were united in a strange unspoken agreement, an instantaneous decision, to be whimsically cruel. There was a flood of sounds, ugly irony, their faces contorted in blind hatred, they got close up to my face, just barely resisting touching my skin, they screamed in mirthful glee, pulled apart my body. An older girl with a Monroe piercing and dry skin stuck out a finger, jabbing at my piercing, ¿que es eso?, she demanded with her mouth loose and wagging. Un piercing, como tienes tú, I finally said, the words coming incredulously from my tense, guarded smile. I guess it broke the spell, I pushed my body forward, finally resigned to move past, to flail if I had to, and they pulled back from me in reluctant, stubborn little steps, crying, ¡un aplauso! and clapping and howling as I walked away.

As the clatter faded behind me, I walked home listening to my breath. My face sighed down, anxious smile erased, I bit my lip and marveled at the silenced that roared in my hollowed out body. I got home, climbed the stairs, sat on the edge of my bed, and cried resentfully, struggling against each silly tear.

It’s strange to spend your life in a self-aware position of cultural dominance, with that history of privilege, that shameful advantage of being a white, middle class American, to be aware of that horrible dark thing, historical cruelty and repression, with all it’s echoes and ghosts, and to live all your years with the knowledge that you will never experience this twisted thing that you are implicitly and helplessly destined to be a purveyor of cruelty. It’s strange to be taught that this feeling is something you have no right to experience, and then to turn a corner one vulnerable day and be confronted by exactly that.

It’s strange to find yourself in a place where nothing you do is the right thing—your words are deformed, uncertain creatures, violence will only turn around and eat you up, silence is weak and indefensible. So, I cried on my bed, and then tried to breathe and felt quiet and lonely and strange and bad, and counted my limbs and my unbroken skin, and breathed and sighed and went downstairs, and found a new way to walk home. And then I cried more and felt weak and helpless and lame, but at the same time, hesitantly satisfied, because I’d glimpsed the nauseous thing a white American never thinks they will touch, and maybe there’s something to be learned from it, maybe this little piece of trembling, blurry nightmare day will be useful to me in that endless process of becoming—becoming a whole person, a better person, a worthwhile person, a new, never stagnant person, a changing, continual self.


Comic relief:

(I would prefer to use the scene after this when the guys are telling their parents about the incident, but I couldn't find it.)

Festival del Dragón

 

At home we cook the worlds speediest pasta, running around the kitchen, drinking more. We eat out of the pot to avoid dishes, pile our shit into the car, and I’m buried beneath a huge blanket in the back seat with a baggie of MDMA in my underwear, the music up, it feels like we’re flying through the streets, through the dark, towards Santa Fé. In the distance there are little clumps of light and the faint resonance of bass. We take a sharp right to avoid a police check point and pull off to the side of the road.

The Dragon festival is a sparkling circus, a grotesque city of lost souls and free souls and everything in between. Faces loom in and out of the darkness, costumes and paint, eyeballs wide as plates, I feel safe bundled up in my polar bear hat. People touch my head, growl at me, laughing. We go floating form tent to tent, where I hold my hand against my chest and feel a beat that is my own heart all mixed up with the rhythm of the music, and it’s the same exuberant boom in everyone’s chest, in everyone’s loose limbs. We eat up exhilaration, from plastic bottles, bitter fingertips, through rolled up bills, we become infinite, we share, we sweat, we dance, we hold on, we let go. Faces loom in and out of the darkness, big gaping smiles, a strangeness that feels soft as skin. I feel my body in every place, I feel me, and you in every pore, I feel my soul hum.

We are under a big canopy dancing with our arms up when the sky becomes the faintest purple and the sun begins to roll up, beneath a layer of thick fog. Trash begins to emerge from the mist. We sit in the first weak rays of sunlight and watch as the landscape appears, a strange dystopian shire. The music persists, but we wander away from it, boots kicking up whitish dust. We sit amongst the olive trees and look at our hands and look at the clouds, and watch each others’ eyes expand. All around me is a serious murmur; they talk about growing up, about ideal childhood, about rebellion and drugs, about moderation and excess, about the revolution that must begin with education, but all my words are sealed up inside of me. The sun is up now, Borja falls asleep on his back, I pick little bits of grass and watch the ants scuttle busily across the cracked earth. Matteo says the olive trees look purple, and I curl up against him, curl up inside my hood.

Back at the festival, the dogs have returned to their instinctual selves, roaming in dusty, playful packs. I stop every few feet to say hello to them. There is a droopy faced old bulldog, there is a beautiful white-gray husky mix chained to a van, there is a tiny fluffy German Shepard pup being carried under someone’s arm. We see familiar faces scattered all around, exchange hugs and smiles. At the car we eat orange segments and pass around a big plastic bottle of water. There is a short shirtless man standing alone against a truck across the street from us. He looks a little lost, he keeps looking over in our direction with a vague smile, shuffling his feet. I walk over to him and offer water, and he laughs nervously and gulps it down, grateful. A red car drives past and shouts at me, “¡Oso polar! ¡Súbete al coche fantástico!” They rev their engine. A moped stops in from of me. They like my hat. They flash big golden-toothed smiles at me.

We wander, wander, wander. I talk to a boy with a painted face, to see if he has any paint, but he’s lost it. He’s Lithuanian and has yellow eyes like a lizard. He sits with us and we stare and he says, “Natural, natural,” and follows us until he comes across a shirtless man throwing himself around in the street and the Lithuanian lances himself with a gleeful whoop and they begin flipping and leaping and tossing each other to the music. We find Adri, still dancing, shirtless, furious, ecstatic. I’m covered in red paint, all down my right arm and my t-shirt and my sweatshirt. We wander and wander.

Eventually, we are hot and Borja is wilting, so we pile into the car, up to our necks in sweatshirts and blankets and we cruise home, a little anxiously. It’s strange to watch people, walking along the streets, their clothes bare of dust and paint, their faces void of wonder, their destinations somehow certain. Outside the house, I’m unloading beer from the trunk, stained and dusty, still wrapped in my polar bear hat, and a neighbor passes by, a middle aged man in a button down shirt, and he seems like some strange surreal portrait of normality, of the bland nature of reality. In the house, we curl up on the couches, and giggle vacantly at Charlie, delirious and exhausted, but humming with left over adrenaline. We take lazy showers and eat slowly with chopsticks, just because. Over thirty six hours pass without sleep, and when I finally go to bed, it’s because I no longer want to keep my eyes open.

Fiesta de Primavera

 

The weekend begins with little boats of vegan curry, sweet grape juice and a couple of cold forties, hoards of young Spaniards armed with plastic bags, plastic cups, plastic bottles, the pervasive stench of piss and piles of trash. We down our first forties and then meander through the masses, looking for familiar faces, or new faces. I climb up on Leon’s shoulders and call out for his friend, who we never find. Down below, people applaud or raise their drinks up at me. Someone hurls a chunk of ice against my back. I keep drinking up there.

Eventually we have to pee. There’s a high cement wall, and on the other side are bushes, full of women, mostly, as the guys are resigned to just lean against any old wall and let loose. We climb up a skate ramp and a group of girls protest, yelling that we can’t pee up there, go fuck ourselves. They are delighted when I attempt to lower myself over the edge and eat shit. Sydney makes the leap much more gracefully. We wait outside a particularly promising bush that a cute girl in a floral skirt tells us is “occupied.” She quickly gathers that we are not from here, and gives us her contact info, hoping to meet up for tapas some day and practice her English.

 Once we’ve peed, we eye the wall suspiciously. Climbing back over does not seem to be an option, but further down, it’s much lower, so we run over and hop on. But we’re a long way, a tin rooftop, and a group of people away from our friends. Fuck it. We take off, hopping precariously along the wall, and people start to take notice. Three boys are blocking our way and protest, not wanting to hop down, but I just ask them to scoot over from each other, and then step behind each one. A few people cheer. When we reach the rooftop, Syd climbs up first. Now people are really watching. We must look crazy, maybe we are. We dash along the rooftop, not wanting to break it, and people really begin to cheer. Someone throws a chunk of ice, again—sonofabitch. But finally we reach Leon and he lowers us down.

He’s acquired people, and I run into Carlos, serious as ever, but drunk as fuck, complaining that he can’t pee. Andrew, a British kid, has a backpack full of warmish tinto de verano, and I chug some of it, and then Matteo calls, saying to come home, so I take off dashing through the crowd and up, up, up the hill. Later, of course, he texts me saying he’ll actually be a while, so I stop and buy vodka and potato chips.

Growing Different Eyes

 

Michelle and I are sitting below San Miguel Alto, below us the city is beginning to sparkle. It looks like someone has scooped up a handful of white buildings and tossed them into place like dice. The sky is melty orange red, smeared with wispy clouds, and the mountains are all wrapped up in gray.

I’m so glad the Alhambra still amazes me.

It’s sitting there, lights hugging against its incredible, certain walls. I take a swig of bittersweet beer, marveling, too. There had been a brief moment during these past months that felt like I’d reached a plateau, but it’s gone now, and I’m back in the habit of being amazed and thrilled with every day.

When my mother came to see me, she kept saying every day has been absolutely different, every day an adventure of a new sort. It’s true, and I suddenly realize, sitting up on the hill, wrapped up in my polar bear hat with a beautiful friend and a liter of beer wrapped in a plastic bag, staring down at the ancient castle, staring out at the sighing sky, that this is my life. Everyday, an adventure, everyday a swelling of amazement, strange beauty, curious discovery, everyday a brand new page, a new memory. It’s incredible that after seven months, nothing has grown bland and gray even though I have walked many of the city’s curving streets, even though each day I wake up and sit in class, even though I have seen the Alhambra glowing patiently a hundred times, and even though a certain kind of routine has formed, the sense of adventure has never left. And then there’s a moment when it kind of just makes sense.

When you leave everything behind and embark on a journey to a strange place with a simple quest, to learn the language and see the things that place has to offer, you grow different eyes. You are no longer content to wake up each day and move in sensible pre-determined steps, you are instead inclined to throw your arms out behind you and give yourself to the opportunities that appear, to wiggle yourself into new places, experiment with discomfort and rapture, with ignorance and awe, helplessness and determination.  You become determined to build an adventure with your bare hands, and whatever falls into them.

Remember These Things

Feel good, feel big, wide, spread out, stretch out, soak up. These are the memories that build up your skin, these are the moments that fill up your heart, that pour out your mouth, fill up your eyes, jumble up your mind. Do you want to be a person? Do you want to be a whole person, a person of substance, a person to hold onto, to drift away with? Do you want to be a person that can be seen, a person that fills up a page, a portrait or a poem, a person that can see, with clear eyes, eyes full of reference points yet clean as a blue summer sky? Then open wide, tilt back, soak up, take in these little seconds, their stillness, their incessant hum, just fling back, let go, take it in, let it all fade by in a blur, just so long as you remember the way it felt, at least, let it all come at you, come in you, like the most beautiful film you’ve ever seen, with it’s booming, whispering, with it’s sobbing, laughing, screaming orchestra. These are the sounds that will hold you at dawn, when the sun ignores you, and rises up and reaches out, these are the memories that will come back to you, in fragments, pieces, all cut up and scrambled and coded into secrets, when you sleep, behind your eyelids when you are hiding from persistent sunlight. Touch it all, let the days run through your fingers, like sand, just as long as you remember how it felt, that smoothness, slipping by, and the little scoop it came from, and the little mound it made.

Remember these things: Thursday night plastic bottles in a loft, the deep red walls, the sting of the air on the street, wobble steps, to the door, the brown neck of a beer bottle, the cold clammy glass, a song, or another, and your feet shuffle, and the doorman, who remembers you, he’s a short man, smiling, little slips of paper, foam, those stumble steps, again, some empty place and that laughter when you leave, the rush and thrum of music, music, music, letting yourself fall away back into it, darkness, bumping, someone with dreadlocks, a Santa Cruz t-shirt, the laughing with your hand over your mouth, time that slips and disappears, and those fucking bathrooms, of course, waking up in a stifling darkness, and falling in and out of it, and then the deep bells jangling, it’s four pm, citrus, panting, uphill, hot water, in cups, unexpected neighbor call, the humming belly surprise, tobacco scent soft and usual, easy words, watching them, and, then, a, long, moment, of, sitting, late morning sunshine, stop and go, outside, in like a sponge, open pores, eyes all sparkling, the city down below, the Alhambra, stoic and brown as ever, just perched, the wind, smoking, the soft smell of one spliff or another, picking down the hill, quick hellos, yellow beer in long glasses, counting my silences, but content, and out onto a bench, a stubborn dog, a three man band, strumming, blissfaced eyes closed, beer, bathroom, beer, and out and over and up into a plaza, on a bench, hugging the last rays of sunlight, borrowed music, the eyes that close, the feet that tap, and the growing moving impermanent sway of human vibrations all around, the animals tussling in the dry dirt, the sun blushing out and down, drums across the plaza, guitar and flute, all mixed up, solid redwrapped litros and shared shivers, swaying, watching, all those beautiful people, and as the evening turns purpley the beat rises us and everyone scrunches around, those distant smiles, stamping feet, absolute in the sound, dirty fingers lifting up cigarettes and fingering wind instruments, and it swells up, and down we go, plunging into the cobblestone maze, a sweet teashop pastry hello, living room drinks, bitter and pink, speed cooking, all amped up and hungry, and laughter, and maps, and we’re dancing at the bus stop, waiting, the burning plastic bottle, the last stop, a lucky guess, and hello, hello, we’re here, glow in the dark masked debauchery, fling ourselves around, sweating to the sounds, jostling, climbing, and we’re spotlighted, cheering, arm in arm, conga line, kick, kick, exultation, and singing too loud in the bathroom, slamming on the walls, some angry face, and the whole thing has only just begun, here we are laughing, masked and only us dancing, fuck it, new faces, new places, a feeling like tugging, what are the things I know about you, the hours drank down into empty bottles, cans, cups, dimming lights, and down on Elvira, spilled beer on the ground, salsa picante, and some conversation that I can’t taste, and dark night shivering, drive up easy, collapse, and then, brief oblivion, it starts again, meandering down, dancing steps all on the road, those faces turning, looking, us looking, laughing, finding, some unexpected faces, hello, and we are here, swaying again, sun like honey all across us, smoke curled all around our eyes until sunset is soft gray beautiful, puppy prancing, we move to keep the shadow out, and separate and then find ourselves all mixed up together, again, in the sound, in the beer, rocking on the steps of the Cathedral, curled up on some large terrace, spit down onto the sidewalk, and, then, the silent, walk, home, just quiet, just happy, just cold, just okay.

These are the things that you must grab, that you must not crush, these are the things you must hold soft as a butterfly, that you must retain within you, that you must let out of you, all at once. Do you want to remember? Do you want to be, feel, to know what you are looking for, what you have had? This is how.

Casey, Cordoba and Curry

It's pretty daunting to try and come back and write after what seems like an eternity.

Casey is still here, but since I start school again tomorrow I decided to sit down and try and work on some homework and let him go skate for a bit. The homework thing is slow going, due to being absolutely non-academic for however long and forgetting what exactly my assignments were, and also due to the procrastination bug that I've contracted since I've gotten here. I should probably get my ass in gear, though, because I have less than a month until the semester is over and finals begin, and I have a few nagging projects that I should be taking care of like...now.

Having Casey here has been amazing and amazing and amazing. We've had a ton of fun and I've tried to be good about taking him to see things that are good to see. We've done a good deal of city wandering, trotted up to San Miguel Alto for the view of a lifetime (a few times), walked down the hill and meandered between the caves, and hiked up to the Alhambra and had a picnic lunch up in the gardens with a tubby black cat that enjoyed our potato chips.

He made me a Thanksgiving dinner, brought Torfurkey for me and everything and we cooked up stuffing and mashed potatoes and it was heavenly and lasted us three meals. He also brought chocolate chips and syrup and we made potatoes and have had a million tasty Casey-breakfasts with different varieties of his delicious potatoes and scrambles and omelets and fried eggs and toast with the honey peach jam my Karen sent me from Twin Palms Ranch and made tasty veggie burgers and homemade french fries and had Casey's tasty curry at a little dinner with some California friends.

We went to the sweet little cafe I fell in love with when I first came here, Bohemia, and stopped by El Piano for some of their tasty little boats of vegetarian, gluten free deliciousness; we went to the science museum and gawked at the T-Rex exhibit and the MC Escher exhibit and the human body exhibit and went up on the tower and looked at the mountains with binoculars. We had beer and tapas with Sydney, went to el Tango and la Marisma, and another veggie place I'd never been to and we went to FrescCo, which is exactly like Fresh Choice, except it's Spain so they don't have salad dressing.

We woke up painfully early one morning and took a bus to Cordoba, had greasy churros at the bus station, walked through the pretty green park and picked oranges and befriended ducks and found a stretch of pretty old fountains, wandered to the Mezquita with it's weird juxtaposition of intricate Muslim decorum and gaudy Catholic gold and statues, ate sandwiches and stumbled upon a calligraphy exhibition in a place called la Casa Arabe, where we found an unlocked conference room and pretended to lecture into the little microphones and then got kicked out, found the big Plaza de las Tendillas and searched in vain for a skate park, had patatas bravas and pizza for lunch and drank a pitcher of sweet rummy sangria, walked some more and had a coffee, and went back to the park where two kids on bicycles came swerving at us out of nowhere and one kid hit the curb and fell off his bike, and then smacked Casey in the face, claiming he'd been thrown off of it, and we just walked away because he was so tiny and it was so ridiculous, and then took the evening bus home.

We took Gypsy to the vet (thrills!) and Casey has been winning over the  kitties with his belly scratches, and they've both been sleeping on our faces and being ridiculous. We woke up early another morning and took the bus to the Sierra Nevada, since Case has never been to the snow, but we discovered that the snow was mostly blocked off for skiers or other paying customers, so we just wandered around and rode this silly little sled ride and broke the ice on a frozen over pond and pet a pony and had pasta lunch and befriended a sweet boxer dog and drank hot chocolate. We went to el Camborio and wooed each other with our equally horrible dancing, and slept in almost everyday, which is a real feat for Casey.

We celebrated our third year anniversary by getting fancied up and trying to go to a vegetarian restaurant called Paprika, which turned out to be closed for "technical reasons," and then walked down Calle Elvira until we stumbled upon an absolutely delicious Indian restaurant where I had the best food I've had since I've been here (maybe excluding our breakfasts): potato cauliflower curry and creamy spinach with paneer, rice and cheesy nan followed by a strange mango ice cream that was kind of...grainy. Then we rolled ourselves up the hill and watched two mediocre romantic comedies.

Now it's Sunday, and school starts back up tomorrow and Casey leaves in four days, which is kind of bleak. Having him here is worrisome in that it makes me preemptively miss him more than ever, but on the bright side my mom has finally gotten her tickets to come see me in February; exactly one month and one day away. I'm excited because she'll be here for two full weeks, and even though I really miss my step dad and brother, I know we'll have a ton of fun hanging out just the two of us. So, as per usual, life is good.

Moving and Merriment

I'm finally very, very pleased to announce that I have moved! Friday Karim saved my life by driving over to my old apartment and helping me load all my stuff up and then unload it into the new house. When we carried all my things in, he paused and read one of the many walls that are covered with multicolored cut out letters and told me, "This is a hippy house," with a playful teasing voice. I just laughed, because only a week or so ago he also told me he is slowly realizing I am quite the hippy myself. (This was in conjunction with a conversation about why we Americans insist on using our nerdy reusable water bottles.)

Anyway, the first day I got all unpacked and rearranged the furniture and Gypsy hid in the closet and sniffed around the corners of the room. That night I discovered that despite wearing a thick pair of leggings, a pair of sweat pants, a T-shirt, a sweater and a sweatshirt, I still kept waking up shivering under my flannel sheets and comforter. So Saturday Sravani and I went to Carrefour Planet, this huge Walmart type place that made me feel weird and claustrophobic-- it's been ages since I've been in such a huge supermarket!-- and I bought another comforter (with feathers!) and a little heater. I'm still wearing a billion layers to bed, but it's much better now. Check out my new room! It's much bigger.

My house consists of two Spanish guys and a woman from Hong Kong, an orange cat named Gato and a little corgi-type dog whose name I can't quite figure out, but whom I've decided to call Cristo. His real name sounds a lot like that. There's also a stripey cat that comes over to hang out with Gato a lot. I think s/he needs a name, so let me know if you have any ideas.

Gato and neighbor cat having a wild rumpus.

So far Gypsy has gotten pretty used to our room, but is not so sure about his new animal companions. Him and Gato have been hissing at each other and making weird cat growls, but mostly have just stared each other down a lot. Gypsy also hissed at Cristo at first but as we speak, the pup is sleeping in our room and Gypsy has fallen asleep trying to look vigilant.

On Saturday, my housemate David had his girlfriend's sister and her family over to have dinner and watch the futbol game (Barca vs. Madrid). They had these two absolutely adorable little girls, and I ended up hanging out with them for a while. Everyone was so nice and the seven year old girl was really eager to show off her English to me (knees! eyes! may I please go to the bathroom!). They were also absolutely obsessed with the animals. I kept Gypsy up in my room to avoid child-trauma but I let them come say hi to him briefly. They even fed my face which was super nice and super delicious. Later I crept into the kitchen and tried to quietly wash dishes but David still came and yelled at me. Things have changed, things have definitely changed.

Miriam and Gato. BFFL.

Yesterday, Sydney and Michelle came over and we had our first dinner in the new house! This proved a little tricky because although my kitchen is awesome and spacious, it is lacking in the actual dish arena. Like... we literally don't have bowls. Or mugs. But dinner turned out great and we shared with Borja, my housemate, and all hung out and bonded and it was jolly.

 A reenactment of the knife-wielding hug that Syd and I shared when I discovered that she's going to be around for the holidays (and therefore for my birthday!)

 

We had rice with eggplant, red and green pepper, green beans, zucchini, onions and garlic slathered with sriracha and chilli sauce, with a side of roasted garlic potatoes. We kinda also almost killed Borja with spiciness (Spaniards don't really do spicy) but he powered through thanks to wine, water and crackers.

This morning I ate rice and veggie leftovers with fried eggs and it turned out to be absolutely gorgeous so I went up to the terrace to eat.

Check out this gorgeous view!

And I made tea....

Yeah. We have a serious mug/glass/cup of any sort shortage. Hopefully today I will find the time to buy some real cups but other than that I'm stooooked! I'll try and put up a photo of my basement sometime soon, it's literally the ultimate chill spot: little wooden bar area, bar stools and a tall table, cushy chair and couch. Can't wait to get my fiesta on here!!

Spainsgiving 2.0 and Subpar Saturday

It appears that lately I've spent my Sundays raving about how cool my life is, and let's face it, my life is awesome. Sometimes, though, it's not. I was thinking to myself that it was probably pretty unnecessary to write a post about how incredibly subpar yesterday was, but at the same time, it's all part of the experience, right?

Friday was Spainsgiving 2.0, our program had a "free" dinner for us. I say "free" because obviously we all paid like thousands of dollars to be a part of this program, so...free is not quite correct. Pre-paid, perhaps? For this reason I was determined to get my money's worth, especially of the open bar, so by the end of the night I was double-fisting wine glasses. There was just too  much classiness to be handled by one hand alone, okay?! Dinner was dope though, they even gave us veg kids an option, so even though our salad sucked ass and had fish in it, our main course was yummy roasted veggies with garlic, and desert was pretty yummy even though it was supposed to be pumpkin pie and it was really like...citrus-raisin pie. I guess they thought that after the wine we wouldn't notice. INCORRECT. It was tasty though. After dinner we powered up with a little more wine and went to Vogue, a club I'd never been to before. The first like three to five songs we're GREAT. Old school wonderfulness. Then the club got obnoxiously packed and the music got really bad really fast. Also, I spent a portion of the night fairly upset, thinking that someone had stolen the 20 euro bill I brought with me as emergency money, not remembering that I had stuffed it into my bra before entering the club to avoid that very danger. So I'm an idiot, but an idiot who plans ahead, at least. Or something.

So that night was actually pretty fun, especially because I went out with a group I haven't really hung out with as much, and they are all a lot of fun. But for some reason, I woke up Saturday morning feeling gloomy as fuck. Inexplicably gloomy; I was supposed to go sign the lease for my new place, which should be exciting, but I just felt like a big puddle of ick. It didn't help that some guy was supposed to come look at my current room and got super mixed up and never came. Actually, I'm fairly certain that he was looking for an apartment in Madrid and just got extremely fucking confused. So I spent a really obscene portion of my day sitting on my ass and waiting, and on occasion hiding Gypsy in Lucas' room and then realizing it was just his friend at the door, not the guy. For some reason, I just kept getting more and more anxious and uncomfortable and antsy and grumpy and sad. I don't know why, just sometimes bad feelings feed off each other and grow in your guts, and for whatever reason, I'm highly susceptible to weird anxiety.

I'm proud of myself, though, because I was able to recognize that cycle, so I laid face down on my bed for a bit and concentrated on breathing, and Gypsy came and laid on my head so I felt much better. I still had two hours before I had to be at the new house but I figured I should get up and moving or I'd fall asleep, so I went and got some cash and then stopped at a thrift store on my way and got a couple cheap sweaters, which was nice. I also heard these girls speaking English and discovered that they are also CA kids studying here. Funny enough, one of them was actually from Watsonville (which is right by Santa Cruz.) Unfortunately, as I was shopping, my new housemates texted me to cancel because they apparently need more info or something before writing the contract up. Frustration!

I was really sleepy all day and didn't really want to go out, but Leticia, this really awesome Spanish girl, invited me to go see a show with her, and I agreed because I've been wanting to hang out; she's female and Spanish and badass, which is pretty much the trifecta of characteristics that are exactly what I need in my life right now. However the details weren't really clear so she told me to keep my Facebook open and she'd keep me updated. At like ten something she told me her friends were coming to get her at like midnight or one, so I tried to take a nap, but Lucas had friends over and one of them for some reason was Skyping with his friend and the combination of our bad Internet connection, the TV being on, and noise four other dudes playing poker was causing him to literally SCREAM at these girls, so I gave up after forty-five minutes and decided to come hang out in the living room and make the boys pregame with me. These kids are not used to taking shots, let me just say. We drank the same amount (although they actually put this like blackberry flavoring crap in theirs) and they ended up having a pushup contest. Who does that? Leticia kept updating me on the show but things kept getting pushed back later and later so when she finally called me at 3:30am I was over it and decided to go to bed. Not her fault at all, but after being sleepy all day, 3:30am seemed like quite the late starting point for my night. So basically I spent my entire Saturday waiting for shit that never happened. COOL.

Anyway, I'm doing the whole "being a giant lazy blob" thing today, and Gypsy already knocked a glass off my desk and broke it, which did not start things off wonderfully, but I'm supposed to go out to a sushi dinner with Karim and some of his friends and Christina. I'm a little nervous about it monetarily speaking, especially since he told us he reserved a table and that there was a menu thing that would be 25 euros a person! That's like slightly over $33 dollars! But luckily Christina and I talked to him and told him we are way too poor for that to be an option, so I'm planning on not being that hungry and just getting something really minimal... It's also a beautiful day and I kinda wanna go be in the sun, but at the same time I should also get some homework done before our Portugal trip.

Oh, and I haven't gotten to speak to Casey so I'm not sure what his Friday gift thing was yet.

Highlights from a Thanksgiving in Spain

Explaining a turducken, that look of simultaneous amazed confusion and understanding; ah, this is why Americans are so fat.

The question, "What do American people do in Thanksgiving? What do they eat? Same than films?"

Deciding to make apple crisp, opening a brand new flour package and discovering bugs living in it.

Running extremely late, feeling like a jerk, arriving to find everyone is a panicked whirlwind in the kitchen and running even later.

Dinner that was scheduled for 9pm occurring at 11pm.

Tortilla de patatas as a Thanksgiving dish.

Spanish people trying a sweet potato dish for the first time.

Spanish people failing to properly grasp the concept of Thanksgiving gluttony; consequently eating more than all the boys.

Explaining appropriate and inappropriate uses of the word "swallow."

Being asked if American people always invite a homeless person over for Thanksgiving, also due to movies.

Hilarious impressions of American "bros" or "gangsters." Imagine: "What's up, bro! Oh fuck yeah, my man!" etc with a (impressively diminished) Spanish accent.

Spanish kids attempting to steal Leah's red solo cups because they are the cups from American Pie, the ultimate party cup. Spanish kids examining and admiring said solo cups.

Hilarious impressions of French accents in order to achieve "sexiness."

Laughing so hard I wanted to die.

Things wrapping up at 3:30am; getting shit from Spaniards for not going to the discoteca afterwards.

Moving, Mexican Food and Movies

Dear everyone, I'm moving! I found a house in the upper Albaycín with a big kitchen, an awesome basement, a huge terrace with a beautiful view of the entire city, with a cat and a dog and housemates that seem super chill. I didn't wanna write about it until I knew for sure what was going on but it looks like next week I'll be signing my new contract and I've already spoken to my current landlord so it looks like things are working out! Gypsy King and I will have an adorable new house and he'll be able to go outside again and things!

My soon-to-be neighborhood!

In other news, here is a list of weekend wonders:

Thursday night: Mexican sleepover! Leah made Spanish rice and grilled veggies, Hannah made salsa, Mauna made guacamole, Courtney brought tortillas and cheese and I brought chipotle refried beans and we smoked a few spliffs and ate until we were dying and watched American Psycho.

Friday morning we woke up late but went to Monachil and hiked and ate sandwiches, then I came home, did some knitting and was generally lazy and cozy. I talked to Casey and he got:

There's not really a reason behind this... Mostly, it was just the correct size and we have sweet teeth.

Saturday morning I did more knitting and lazing and then met up with Christina, who lives in the lower Albaycín and we decided to take a walk and see if I could find my new neighborhood by foot (since I'd only bussed there before.) We ended up getting turned around but it was all kinds of adventurous fun. We ended up hiking up this big hill where tons of ghetto cave houses and lean-to type homes were set up, and we eventually came to this old city wall and realized we were on the wrong side of it and decided to climb it, since it was crumbling in such a way that created all kinds of foot and hand holds. Sitting on top of the wall was so exhilarating and it had an amazing view. We found my neighborhood, too!

Saturday night I met up with Courtney and we went and hung out with Christina at Laurel's and then went to Felipe's and watched a Spanish movie called Noviembre, which was a bit difficult to understand but really interesting.

Today is the epitome of a lazy Sunday. I was going to go see the theater again, but Valentina isn't in tonight's show, so the cold won and I stayed home and drank tea, instead. This weather may mean significantly less interesting things to talk about, because I really can't be bothered to leave the house when I'm cold...

Monachil

We woke up late, of course. The blinds shut tightly, the room was dark as a warm tomb, I stretched my legs. The sky was a rippling velvet, brightest blue and blackest gray, mist and heat. We sat at the back of the bus.

The pueblo was sleepy silent, I looked into the river and saw a bright circus poster slumped against the rocks, water rushing over the elephants and tigers, over the big bold letters. It was a sad thing to see, but the mountains reached up all around us, and there was a bright blue café with a chalkboard menu, and we walked with brisk legs and the air felt clean.

My boots felt solid on the dirt pathways, we walked past neat little farms and beautiful persimmon trees, we came upon a shed of goats. There was a dog by the gate, he saw us and leaned against it—he looked like a sad tiger. When I came up to him he stood up and pawed at the gate with one hefty paw, he stood up on his back feet and shoved his nose through the bars. He was soft between the ears and his eyes were dark and sweet.

As we climbed the hills we were thankful for the chill. We came upon a square government building and a block of cement with three different sides, all strange and wonderful street art. We passed more persimmon trees and a man drove by on a motorcycle with a black lamb draped across his lap. It lifted its head to look at us as they passed. Up high in the hills were lonely crumbling buildings, they looked beautiful and serious.

We climbed cement slab steps, nervously crossed swaying suspension bridges and waddled under big overhanging stones along the river. The water looked clean, blue and cold. We found two big stones in a little cave of foliage and sat to eat sandwiches and mandarins and pastries and then the sky opened up, just a little, and sprinkled us with water, and we cleaned up quickly and scrambled back along with big overhanging stones, the belly of the mountain.

When we came back to the swaying bridge, it was raining on the rock climbers, it was raining on their black dog. When we came to the stone steps, we parted ways and wound around and up in an unexpected spurt of chilly exhilaration. We scrambled up a jagged path and reached a little plateau, we raised our arms and looked up into the gray sky and down at the glistening tree tops, we looked down at that fiery autumnal red, at green and green and green. From up top we could see two little figures huddled together beneath a tree. We whooped and waved, and they danced back up at us.

We made a circle of warm bodies and with stiff fingers lit a sturdy little spliff, warmed our lungs with the tang of tobacco and weed. I clambered down the hill with it perched between my lips, exhaled into the sky and felt my own skin with a definite lucidity as the little drips of water slid down my nose. 


The way back is always quicker. We were back on the sidewalk, we walked past the circus poster, dissolving in the wet, we stood at the bus stop with our hands in our pockets.

Visits!

CASEY IS COMING TO SPAIN!

Last week we finally got his ticket! He'll actually be leaving California ON Christmas, because it'll save us money, so I won't get him on my birthday but the day after Christmas, and then he'll stay until January 13th. I'm so fucking exciting, there are no words. Basically, all my Christmas money is going towards this ticket, but having him here is the best present I could imagine.

In other exciting news, SatAmrit and Mailee came to visit this week, and it was glorious. I discovered that I was definitely not prepared to be a very effective tour guide, and I feel like I may have been a little bit of a failure, but I did manage to take them to see the Alhambra and to get paella and I took them out to Camborio and to La Sal (randomly) and they got to meet Karim and Leto and we got to Skype with Zella and it was almost like being back together with my favorite Santa Cruz ladies.

It was generally just kind of surreal and awesome having them here with me. Made home somehow seem further away, though, especially since they're going back to CA in December, which seems so close compared to my return date. If I hadn't extended, my trip would already be a third over. Weird. It's also strange to think about the fact that they, and many other friends, are graduating, so by the time I come back people are going to be scattering. It's easy to forget that college isn't real life and that all your friends will scatter and do different things with their lives. I'm really glad I'll have Casey in Santa Cruz with me, though. House hunting with a dog is going to suck, but once we find a place life will be lovely.

Aaaanyway, yesterday was Friday, so Casey got:

Super strong manly mints! Not for girly men. Why? Because he has a mint addiction, and these are funny.

Well, it's a cold sleepy Saturday and I'm on the verge of either going back to sleep or making some tea, but either way I will be thrifting my life away in a while because the thrift shop down the street is having an everything for ONE EURO sale. I need some man-sweaters in my life, yesiree I do.

In closing, I leave you with this fabulous drawing that SatAmrit made of Gypsy, who is apparently a boy kitty: