Today I played tennis with a new guy named Hugo. He's a British student from Cambridge spending his third year in Barcelona working and studying linguistics on his own. He told me early on in our game that he is more of a soccer player, and then used every opportunity possibly to try to juggle the ball with his feet (e.g. after faulting on the first serve, instead of just picking up a second ball, he insisted on playing with it with his feet for a few seconds first).
I know that I am not by any means the fashion police, but Hugo was wearing this ridiculous white polo (VERY RETRO) with rainbow stripes, and a red headband. He is extremely pasty and was showing off his legs in a pair of black shorts with a white stripe around the bottom the emphasized that the shorts were actually wedged up into his crotch. The few times he actually picked up a ball with his hands, he would bend over right in front of me (usually on changeovers) with his butt facing me so I could see his really bad underwear lines from his tighty-whities.
Regardless of the fact that he was arguably the most awkward person I have met in Barcelona thus far, in his defense he didn't ask me out (see Tennis Joe) and actually beat me 10-8, 6-3.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Another Tennis Joe Update
I just received ANOTHER text from Tennis Joe:
Between 4:45 or 5pm.ok?what did u do yesterday?
I want him to leave me alone.
Between 4:45 or 5pm.ok?what did u do yesterday?
I want him to leave me alone.
Tennis Joe Update
This just in:
Hey!i asked u to hang out yesterday cause i had some free time.i went with a friend.would like change.can we play on thursday instead wed?thanks.
Hey!i asked u to hang out yesterday cause i had some free time.i went with a friend.would like change.can we play on thursday instead wed?thanks.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Tennis Joe
Recently, I have been taking advantage of the Barcelona Tennis website by sending out mass e-mails detailing dates and times I am available to play. Through my new method, I have met a short, Peruvian man named Joe. After canceling several times due to illness, we finally played a couple weeks ago and were pretty closely matched so have played again since then.
When we play, we mostly speak English because he likes the practice. I'm probably the worst person to practice English with since I never correct him (he says things like "I don't want to be too gossip, but what is your um..." when asking about my rent).
Each time I meet up with him I realize something new and strange about him. On the metro home last week, I realized he has a coke pinkie nail. A couple times ago, I noticed his strange patchy chest hair that shows through his v-neck jerseys he plays in. I initially guessed he was in his mid to late-30s but it turns out he's 28. He is also shorter than me.
Today I received a text message from him saying:
"Hi Hillary!ive seenur email.would like play this wed.r u up 4 drink or eat someth.later?Horton is another option.tickets go on me.just do 1 missed call.joe"
I think he's asking me out? I am not okay with this. We are exclusively tennis partners and being asked out by short, hispanic men has secretly been by biggest fear with the tennis website up to this point (especially after I played a Spanish man who thought it was funny to hit me in the back with spare balls when I was walking to the baseline). The fact that I only semi-understand his text message really doesn't help. I know Horton refers to the new animated English movie I have no desire to see, but "1 missed call"? Why would I do 1 missed call? As much as I want to get to the bottom of this, I now want to change phone numbers and avoid seeing him for the rest of my time here. Luckily, he isn't a member at the tennis club.
When we play, we mostly speak English because he likes the practice. I'm probably the worst person to practice English with since I never correct him (he says things like "I don't want to be too gossip, but what is your um..." when asking about my rent).
Each time I meet up with him I realize something new and strange about him. On the metro home last week, I realized he has a coke pinkie nail. A couple times ago, I noticed his strange patchy chest hair that shows through his v-neck jerseys he plays in. I initially guessed he was in his mid to late-30s but it turns out he's 28. He is also shorter than me.
Today I received a text message from him saying:
"Hi Hillary!ive seenur email.would like play this wed.r u up 4 drink or eat someth.later?Horton is another option.tickets go on me.just do 1 missed call.joe"
I think he's asking me out? I am not okay with this. We are exclusively tennis partners and being asked out by short, hispanic men has secretly been by biggest fear with the tennis website up to this point (especially after I played a Spanish man who thought it was funny to hit me in the back with spare balls when I was walking to the baseline). The fact that I only semi-understand his text message really doesn't help. I know Horton refers to the new animated English movie I have no desire to see, but "1 missed call"? Why would I do 1 missed call? As much as I want to get to the bottom of this, I now want to change phone numbers and avoid seeing him for the rest of my time here. Luckily, he isn't a member at the tennis club.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Bilbao
Since I'm too lazy to blog, what happens in Bilbao now stays in Bilbao. Unless you read Joanna's blog.
Dublin
Since I'm bad at remembering back to things that have happened over vacations, I decided to just type up my notes from our Dublin trip (as you can see, they are very incomplete):
Day 1 - Joanna pops foot blister in airport using pen and Chapstick while waiting for plane.
Joanna and I take bus to city center (14€) to learn our hotel is not in city center. Take cab ride from nice but scary black man who doesn't know where our hotel actually is but finds it somehow (34€) even though hotel receptionist doesn't answer phone. TV in hotel doesn't work. Joanna and I establish Ireland is Leprochan conspiracy. Also - threw up at Girona airport and we are starving at this point but there are no vending machines in our hotel (a Comfort Inn, interestingly enough).
Day 2 - Museum of Ireland, gardens, McCafé, BAGELS (a delicacy not offered in Spain), and Temple Bar where we met Sebastiano (a German DHL engineer) and John Wayne (a drunk Irish man who told us about his time in Boston - which mostly consisted of him having a bad haircut and buying lots of drugs).
Day 3 - Rain/Paradise Hotel/Tommy Boy/Guinness
Day 4 - Stag's Head, Fish n Chips. One night we took the bus too far. The driver drove us back to our hotel.
Day 5 - Joanna and I get stuck waiting for parade behind Illinois folk who use charming catchphrases like: "Look at that Dutchish façade."
Overall, Dublin was fun and the people are wonderful. It's basically a cheaper, more friendly version of England.
Day 1 - Joanna pops foot blister in airport using pen and Chapstick while waiting for plane.
Joanna and I take bus to city center (14€) to learn our hotel is not in city center. Take cab ride from nice but scary black man who doesn't know where our hotel actually is but finds it somehow (34€) even though hotel receptionist doesn't answer phone. TV in hotel doesn't work. Joanna and I establish Ireland is Leprochan conspiracy. Also - threw up at Girona airport and we are starving at this point but there are no vending machines in our hotel (a Comfort Inn, interestingly enough).
Day 2 - Museum of Ireland, gardens, McCafé, BAGELS (a delicacy not offered in Spain), and Temple Bar where we met Sebastiano (a German DHL engineer) and John Wayne (a drunk Irish man who told us about his time in Boston - which mostly consisted of him having a bad haircut and buying lots of drugs).
Day 3 - Rain/Paradise Hotel/Tommy Boy/Guinness
Day 4 - Stag's Head, Fish n Chips. One night we took the bus too far. The driver drove us back to our hotel.
Day 5 - Joanna and I get stuck waiting for parade behind Illinois folk who use charming catchphrases like: "Look at that Dutchish façade."
Overall, Dublin was fun and the people are wonderful. It's basically a cheaper, more friendly version of England.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Top Ramen
A couple weeks ago, I found "Noodles of the Orient" at my local grocery store. It looked exactly like Top Ramen, so I bought a couple packs and brought them home to cook them. I was making the first pack and following the directions on the package, which involved adding a tablespoon of salt. I felt like this was more salt than necessary (especially since I don't remember ever having to add salt back in the US) so I just added a teaspoon. The broth was so salty I couldn't drink it without gagging.
Today, I decided to prepare the other package (a more familiar chicken flavored ramen) and was reading the instructions and realized I was instructed to add Olive Oil, NOT salt. In Spanish, those words aren't even similar (aceite vs. sal). Thank God I'm not a chef.
Today, I decided to prepare the other package (a more familiar chicken flavored ramen) and was reading the instructions and realized I was instructed to add Olive Oil, NOT salt. In Spanish, those words aren't even similar (aceite vs. sal). Thank God I'm not a chef.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Bad at Blogging
Today I realized that I haven't blogged in a while, but it's not because my life is so chock-full of action that I can't find a spare second to blog, trust me. Mostly, my internet has been sporadically broken and I don't really do anything new these days. BUT Spring Break (or Semana Santa if you live here) is next week and we're going to Dublin for St. Patrick's Day and then Bilbao and Basque Country for another mini-vacation. So, hopefully, things will happen and blogs will ensue.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Grácia Day
This morning I was trying to snooze through my alarm clock when a parade decided to go down my street, pelting people with candy. Apparently it's some saint's day and they only celebrate it in my neighborhood. And by celebrate I mean throw candy at innocent bystanders while riding by on horses and playing drums.
Overall, it's pretty amusing because there are piles of multicolored candy everywhere (there seems to be only one supplier who just makes run-of-the-mill hard candies in colored wrappers) and everyone's shoes stick to the ground for the rest of the day because of all the sugar melted to the street. I thought this festival was more of a morning thing (just to wake up the citizens of Grácia) but it's currently 8:30pm and it seems to be the climax of the parade (more horses and music, more cheering, etc.).
Today I decided to take a stand against unemployment and tried to get a job as a babysitter/English teacher for this really adorable family who lives near me. It works perfectly with my schedule and I really like the kids, but Barcelona hates me (based on how, during my apartment hunt, I'm apparently the last person anyone wants in their house). I find out by tomorrow morning if I got it. I may have won some points by being named Hillary, though, because the 8 year-old boy loves Hilary Duff.
Overall, it's pretty amusing because there are piles of multicolored candy everywhere (there seems to be only one supplier who just makes run-of-the-mill hard candies in colored wrappers) and everyone's shoes stick to the ground for the rest of the day because of all the sugar melted to the street. I thought this festival was more of a morning thing (just to wake up the citizens of Grácia) but it's currently 8:30pm and it seems to be the climax of the parade (more horses and music, more cheering, etc.).
Today I decided to take a stand against unemployment and tried to get a job as a babysitter/English teacher for this really adorable family who lives near me. It works perfectly with my schedule and I really like the kids, but Barcelona hates me (based on how, during my apartment hunt, I'm apparently the last person anyone wants in their house). I find out by tomorrow morning if I got it. I may have won some points by being named Hillary, though, because the 8 year-old boy loves Hilary Duff.
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