La cumple de mi roommate

Last week my roommate Vanesa turned 24, but we didn't have the fiesta until this past Saturday.  She and Carlos invited about 9 people over to the house to just relax, eat, drink, dance, and have fun. Inevitably, Carlos broke out the "SingStar" on Playstation. I HATE KARAOKE...I don't even know if that's how you spell it, and I don't even care because I despise it that much.  I have NEVER in my life sang Karaoke, which in itself is an impressive feat considering 1/3 of my family is Filipino and about 1/2 my friends are of some Asian heritage.  Somehow...these Spaniards convinced me to do it.  They wanted me to sing in English, and the only song they had was Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean." [This is like one of those situations where you're lost and tired and fall in a pile of mud and think, "Well, at least thing's couldn't get any worse." Cue the cartoon rain cloud.  I'm sorry, Michael Jackson fans, but just because someone revolutionizes some type of art doesn't mean everyone has to love them or should willingly brush aside the freakish/illegal things they do in their real life.  The Jackson 5, I totally get.  White Michael, I don't get.] I sang it, but only because Andres sang it with me, and according to SingStar he knows English better than I do because his final score was higher!

Everyone at the party was great, and the ones who knew a bit of English were making an effort to use the words they knew.  Victor in particular had the best English and would ask his fiance to pass him the wine and then say, "Thank you" in English.  Paula answered the intercom with "Who is this?" It was cute.  Of course the rest of the guys just knew all the disgusting sexual words.  I actually really liked Victor and Paula.  They're the only two of the group that are practicing Catholics, so they aren't going to live together until they are married, they don't drink, and generally seem like cool people.  After Sandra finally convinced me to take a sip of her wine, Victor went over and poured me a glass of Fanta, so I wouldn't make any "bad decisions." Even with my incredibly pessismistic view of young people and their alcohol comsumption, I fortunately always manage to find someone in a group of people who respects my decisions to not drink.

Around 3am, we lost about 5 people who had to get up early for work the next day (reducing our numbers to 7 people), and someone made the proposition to go out.  I was not dressed to go out, so I told them I was going to stay home, but they would not have it.  Vanesa was so cute.  She kept yelling, "FIESTA Niki! FIESTA!!! Tienes que ir con nosotros.  Si no vas, todos quedaremos en casa."  The Spanish guilt, man, they know how to use it well.  I quickly changed, borrowed some black flats from Vanesa, and we went out to Mostoles.    

The past few days, I've been feeling really settled here.  It comes and goes in little waves, depending on what I'm doing.  Last week, I was sitting on the bus listening to Tumbao de Juana, the band from Barcelona that I'd bought the demo from, on my iPod and actually fell asleep until we reached Principe Pio in Madrid.  I couldn't believe how comfortable and assimilated I'd become.  I also haven't had many strangers guess I'm American.  So far, I've had British, Australian, Swiss, or Italian.  It really hit me when we were in the discoteca in Mostoles and Sandra was teaching me how to do a sevillana move on the dance floor.  Vanesa leaned over and said she had just told Carlos that I looked like I'd been living in Spain for 20 years. 

Maybe it was the trance-inducing beat of all the crappy club music, but I felt like I was finally a part of Spain. I may not have declared life-long allegiance to any futbol team yet, but I can officially say that after college I left the U.S. and started fresh in a new country.  I'm completely submerged in a different culture, a different way of life, a language that (although I never thought I'd say it in my life) I sometimes get sick of, and meeting new people all the time. Gracias Espana, besitos xxx

Ay Dios Mio!

Exactly a month has passed since I arrived in Spain! Ay Dios mio! Some observations I've made include the following:

1. Spanish road rage is probably one of the funniest things I've seen here so far.  Maybe its more endearing to me because its in a foriegn language, and its usually middle aged ladies getting themselves in a hot mess.

2. Pedestrians are always given the right of way in Arroyomolinos, and almost always given the right of way in Madrid and Barcelona.  Its makes me feel safer when I walk the streets here.

3.  I can spot an American before they even open their mouths.  Its something about the way they dress, look, and walk.  Then, when they unfortunately open their mouths, I want to bury my face in my jacket for shame of originating from the same country as these beasts.  Now I know why I got so many weird stares when I first arrived in Arroyomolinos. 

4.  From what I can tell, the most important things to most Spaniards seem to be :  family, futbol, food, good conversation and companionship, and fashion....in that order.

One of my favorite experiences here so far was a Saturday when I decided to go out with some other auxiliares and their madrileño friends.  We met up around midnight to talk and have drinks at Carlos' place and then headed out to the bar "Mañana No Salgo."  The music was horrible.  It was techno, unidentifiable slow jams, and.....wait for it....techno remixes of the Ghostbusters and the Neverending Story themes.  It closed at 3am...lame, so we made our way over to the discoteca "Nell."  That place was definitely more my taste.  It was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with twenty- and thirty-somethings and had the kind of nonsensical music that I'd never listen to on my own (but love to dance to).  Sharon and I made the epic journey to the bathroom and realized every girl in there looked like Gisele Bundchen or Mónica Cruz. 

We got back to Carlos' apartment around 5:30am and went to sleep.  I awoke around 12:30 in the afternoon on Sunday, absolutely starving.  I waited about 30 minutes in that awkward limbo when you're awake, your friends are still out cold, and you're contemplating how much you want breakfast.  I decided to drop a note on Sharon's purse and head out for some grub.  I made my way down a side street near Sol, plopped myself down in a cafe, and when the waitress came over tried to order off the "before noon" breakfast menu.  Being too much of a zombie to make an adult decision, I ordered a café con leche and then said, "Oy....que me recomienda?" Without missing a beat, she replied with "una tostada" as if she was my mom and was going to bring it to me whether I wanted it or not.  I happily agreed, and when it arrived.....it was the best toast, jam, and butter that I could've imagined.  My grandpa DePalo still holds the title for "Best Toast in the World" but I have a feeling Spain's tostadas might take the crown at some point this year.