The 30th bday that I kinda sorta remember

Holy crap, what a weekend!

I have some v. awesome friends!

Saturday night was my planned belated b-day dinner. I had left the planning up to Coachie since in between planning and recouping from No Sangria Left Behind, I was drained of creative energy.   As Saturday drew closer, I was getting antsy b/c I didn’t know what was going on. Coachie’s “updates” were to tell me that my friends suck b.c no one had responded to her emails asking for ideas/help.   Also w/in that week, FAIL told me he had a wedding to go to, Schmitty told me he had forgotten and had a friend in town, NittanyLion had a bellydancing show, etc. Now, most people might have caught on, but I’m not that bright.  Considering my bday had been 3 weeks ago and I had sent this invite before I left and hadn’t really followed up, I just assumed that peeps had forgotten.

So Saturday rolls around and Coachie decides that we’ll get our nails done before dinner at Jaleo. She picks me up and we head into Bethesda and the entire time she’s telling me how pissed she is at my friends and how no one responded.  My thoughts: No one?? Not even JRules??  But, bu-uu-t he always responds to stuff. He wuvs me. And Nat?? No Nat??  Seriously??? I know my visits to my B-more posse have been spotty, but to not even respond?? Sniff.

My response to Coachie: Whatever.

Flippy texted to say she would be late. She had warned me of this on Friday so I didn’t really pay attention. Then DR texted that her mom’s alarm had been going off so the security company had called her and she had to check.  By now I was getting slightly annoyed, and Coachie was getting v. irritated in her own special way.  She was also getting hyper.

Coachie, as she hops/skips/dances around the apartment:  I’m so hyper for your birthday!!! Aren’t you excited.

My thoughts: You’re excited about me and you being the only people at a table for 8 at Jaleo??? Ooooooookay.

My response: Uh, yeah, I’m excited.

After the mani’s we stopped by Ten Thousand Villages for a lil looky, and I noticed that Coachie was texting a great deal, but thought it was sister-related since her sis and bf had a huge fight.  Coachie was also v. concerned w/ killing time.  I started thinking that perhaps there was something going on, maybe even a surprise party but quickly dismissed that as there was NO way that Coachie would have been with me for such an extended period of time and not let something slip.

On our way to Jaleo, we stopped at Coachie’s apt to check on the sis since she was v. distraught about her fight and was drowning her sorrows in booze. Being the enabler I am, I brought all the little bottles of booze that I had to donate to the cause of man-hating.

I walked into the apt was met with a sillystring/confetti attack with Eye of the Tiger playing in the back. Everyone was there: Flippy, DR, Mean Fairie, CabanaBoy, Nat, FAIL,  JRules, Hotness Macgillacutty, my Shimmy Sisters, and JP. My WestToast co-workers sent in a group shot of them doing a “Pithy pose” so they were there in spirit, some sillystring almost went up my nose, but were deflected by my boobs, so SmugMonkey was represented as well.  Schmitty and his lady joined us. Best part: both Schmitty and FAIL suited up for me! It was legendary!

The one downside to the surprise was that I had not eaten alot  in prep for dinner. So after my second margarita, I was already drunk. The 2 slices of pizza and a cupcake did nothing when chased w/ half a bottle of champage, taken straight from the bottle,  cuz I’m classy like that.

After the presents and the pre-game, we made our way to Havana Village where we met up w. MalSnay. I attempted to dance w/ my peeps, but the hastily grabbed salsa shoes were not meant to be.  In my less-than-sober state I couldn’t get them buckled properly so I was walkng around w/ shoes half off and a long dress that I was tripping on. But I did have a leopard print tiara on, so it was all good.

After a couple of mojitos, events become fuzzy. I vaguely remember going to Bourbon and meeting up w/ my lovely ladies, LiLu, Maxie, Lemmonex, Deutlich.  f.B and his lovely lady were also there, and I finally got to meet (and place my head in her boobs)  the infamous cavy. (If I left anyone out, I’m sorry and I blame the devil’s drink)

After that, it’s a blur.  Rumor has it boobs were everywhere, I was hugging people left and right and at one point I announced “For those who haven’t seen drunkPithy,  THIS is DrunkPithy!!”  I fully expect nip slips in my pics.

The last thing I really remember is  being at the Diner and staring at my Monte Cristo sandwich while weaving in my seat. I also remember really wanting to lay my head on the table, using my home fries as a pillow.  Thankfully I didn’t. At least I haven’t been told that I did.

The next day was spent alternating between Flippy’s bed and her couch, with a side of KFC and bacon and watching Role Models. Paul Rudd, I heart you. Be my sex slave?

A big thank you to all my peeps!!!!  You rock!

It was so sweet of FCB to win for my bday!

like how I left you w/a cliffhanger and then didn’t update forever? Yeah, I’m awesome like that.

So after strolling around Port Vell and Las Ramblas, we went back to the hotel to prep for the evening. That day was my actual birthday, so I had made reservations for us at a Flamenco dinner show to celebrate the dirty thirty.  Neither of the WonderTwins had made any mention of my bday and considering they never shut up about anything, I figured they had forgotten. Whatevs,  the peeps I truly wanted to party w/ were back in the US anyway, so I didn’t say anything. Well, after I nipped out to the pool for some bakey-bakey (sun, not weed), I came back to a bottle of cava and a decadent mini-cake waiting in the room. TioTiny started to say that they ordered it, but I shot him a look knowing there was no fucking way they bought me a bottle of booze for my bday. MommaPithy shut him up and ‘fessed that the hotel had sent it up. When we checked into The Hilton Diagonal Mar the hottie (Jorg, spoke several languages, tall, v. nice) made a comment about my birthday when he saw my passport, so sweetie that he was, sent up the booze and noms.  not only was the hotel staff v. friendly and helpful, they had excellent taste in hiring. My favorite was the Aussie that spoke fluent Spanish, had olive skin, blue-ish green eyes and dark hair. I was so tempted to jump him in the elevator….oopid cockblocks.

I saved the cava for my bday celebration stateside, so I could properly enjoy it, but the cake never had a chance.

The dinner show was in the middle of Las Ramblas, and when we arrived early we sat and people-watched.  Tons of FC Barca (and one or two v. lonely Manchester United ) fans –blowing horns, chanting, drinking and clad in team colors — were headed to maremagnum to watch the game on the big screen. I so tempted to blow off dinner and find a bar to watch the game w/ them.

But this dinner wasn’t something I wanted to blow off. We were going to Tablao Cordobes for a buffet dinner followed by a live flamenco performance.  If you’re ever in Barcelona, I highly recommend going here! The food was incredible.  Several kinds of stew/soups, traditional paella, fresh veggies and salads, rice dishes other than paella, cheeses, hams…sooooo good.  There were some items I wasn’t about to try, octopus salad being one of them, but some stuff I thought was safe, like the mini-croquettes and the black rice. I thought it was some weird type of grain that made it black, but  I was wrong. Oh, so v. wrong. I found out the next day that it was black b/c the rice was cooked in squid ink.

wtf.

Tasty though and I would have never guess squid ink. And the mini-croquettes? Well, I’m still not sure what they were. The lil sign in front of them said something like Croquetas de bachalla, which Google tells me is a shredded cod fish croquette. The consistency of the croquette wasn’t like shredded fishy. It was more gelatinous and didn’t taste like seafood at all. It was quite nommy. During our tapas tour the next day — same place that broke the squid news to me– they mentioned that tripe was used for croquettes. I think we all know where this is going…

Dinner, dessert and 3/4 of a jarra of sangria later it was time for the show. We were ushered into small-ish room, with seats right up to the stage. There were times that I had to uncross my legs b.c I was afraid the dancers might trip.  A round of cava –Spanish sparkling wine that is now my favorite drink and yes, I’m calling it BeanerBubbly– was served and the show began.

It was incredible. I’ve to different performing arts shows, but this show was pure emotion, athleticism, and talent with plenty of sensuality. The music was live, 2 guitar players and at most 3 singers — one sang while the others clapped and did a background echo-ish type of singing.   And yes, the dudes were hot. I pretty much filled my camera trying to get a clear shot of one of the singers, but as he was doing the clappy-stomp my pics were a lil blurry.  The lead dancer was another hottie, dancing only solos and getting rounds of applause for his footwork. His long, curly hair made him easy on the eye, until he did some spins in front of me and made it rain little droplets of Hot!FlamencoDancer sweat.  Ew.

While we were watching the show, you could hear cheering coming from the streets when the music lulled. It sounded like a victory for Barca, and once we got out of the show, the streets filled w. the peeps from maremagnum and other bars dancing and chanting told us that FCB had won!

TT had earlier express fear about being in the large crowd of soccer fans after the game, so he didn’t look that thrilled that we had to walk w/ them to get to a metro stop. I was ecstatic. This kind of celebration  was what you always saw on the news and we were going to be smack-dab in the middle of it!! I took the lead, the WT held hands and, on occasion, the back of my dress and we waded through.  Years of navigating though crowded dance floors, with drinks and ciggies in hand were all leading up to this legendary moment!

It. was. awesome.  Doing Times Square for NYE had previously been my OMGWTFTHISISSOOOAWESOME memory, but NYE, you just got served.

People were in trees, on top of buildings, climbing light poles, kicking bags around like soccer balls, lighting fireworks, blowing horns, dancing, throwing beer and everyone was singing the different fight songs. (Barca, Barca, Barcaaaaaa)

This isn’t my video, but here are some idea of what the walk and metro ride were like:

Now that is how you celebrate a birthday.

ramblin’ along Las Ramblas

while in Barca, I did some old-school blogging, a.k.a. kept a journal. While my journaling output was akin to my blogging, I do have some goods and will use my pics as a guide for the rest.

Today started out lazy. I planned for a 6.30 am wakey-wakey (we had arrived the afternoon before) so we could hit Las Ramblas early, but the snooze button and I were reunited once again. Finally around 7.30 MommaPithy got tired of the alarm beeping and got up.

After the usual game of 20 Questions about the day’s activities, I started getting ready, which included straightening my hair. Two mins after plugging my fancy-schmancy straightener, pop went the weasel along w/ half the lights in the room, followed by a distinct burning smell. The “converter” MP bought was the wrong one.  A slightly panicked phone call later and housekeeping sent up an electrician to fix the lights and drop off a proper transformer the size of a frakkin’ toaster.

While waiting for the lights, TioTiny decided to shower in the dark, continuing his water conservation technique of running the water in the shower for a few seconds every couple of minutes. Next time I visit TioTiny in Miami (if there is a next time), I’m taking baths every night.

After waiting for TT to get ready — he takes as long as a chick does to get ready, it’s ridic — several returns to the room for MP’s sweater coat (vital since it’s below 80 degrees and frostbite might set in) and the 15lb piece of shit craptop should we find an Internet cafe (we never did) we f i n a l l y headed out to the metro.

The metro system here is a mix of the color-coded lines of DC and the WTF-soooooo-many-lines of NYC (I later learned that the map I was looking at showed metro and bus lines, hence the gaaaaaaah! at first glance). Thankfully my guidebooks are v. detailed.

The metro seats are v. nice w/ butt indents along the back so peeps can stand and lean. The ride is waaaaaaay smoother than the DC metro — no need for death grips on the poles and no jerky acceleration and stopping. DC could get some pointers from these guys.

I was really looking forward to Las Ramblas as all my guidebooks pimped this as the most awesome part of Barca and encouraged travelers to make it a 2-day tour. Uhhh, what were tehy smoking? It’s a very pretty walk and  the WT loved the street performers, but it wasn’t that awesome.

Imagine M St. in  Georgetown (but no pleated pants or sweater sets w/ pearls) but the sidewalks are in the middle and there is only one lane of traffic on either side. The middle part is lined w/ trees and filled w/ lil’ stands selling touristy schtuff (keychains, postcards, shotglasses) and then stands selling birds/hamsters and then stands selling flowers. In between the stands are street performers dressed like statues/demons/angels/midgets/you name it who will take pics w/ you for a small donation. People are all over, walking, biking, running.  Buildings that look ancient are next to buildings that look new.  The stores are a mix of cafes, restaurants, stores (H&M is everywhere) .

We walked the Rambla all the way to the port/sea, after a bit of fudging on my part regarding the distance. By noon the WT were whinging to go back b.c of the time needed to get ready for the flamenco dinner show we were going to at 8. After I suggested they go back to the hotel and I would walk on, they shut up.

The one part of Las Ramblas that lived up to my expectations was the La Mercat de Sant Josep de Boqueria, or La Boqueria. Tons, and I mean tons, of fresh fruit in beautiful, rich colors, a candy display that puts anything you would see in the US to shame,  fishies of all sorts (kinda smelly but not as bad as you would think), nommy cheeses, and meats both cured and fresh off the hoof.  Extremely fresh off the hoof. In the middle of everything is a small pub where the hotties in their soccer jerseys were singing what I thought were pub tunes, but now realize were the fight songs for FC Barcelona as the final for the European Cup were being played that night in Rome. More on that later.

After buying enough fresh fruit for a small army and MP trying to marry off TT to the chicky that was running the fruit stand (I wish I was joking about that) we continued down to the until we reached the sea.

There you find huge monument to Christopher Columbus w/ big-ass lions that have huge nuts. Whatevs, you would have looked too! A walkway w/ modern-looking silver sides leads you to maremagnum, a cool mall w/ a huge outdoor terrace where an enormous jumbo-tron was set up to broadcast the night’s game.  We wandered around maremagnum for a while, heading back to the metro via an alternate path rather than going back to Las Ramblas. Port Vell is the name of the port-ish area, that I just remembered.  Back at the hotel we all nearly passed out. We lazy bums aren’t used to such walking!

Up next…dinner and drunks!

and this is why you never travel w/ family, the final volume

The next morning when  I wake up, the first words out of MP’s mouth were, “What time does de boos tour thingy leave? We need to get ready.” Twitch, twitch, TWITCH. Sensing a theme here, people?

The bus tour was awesome, and of course that evening there was a fight about me “fun” enough. When I responded as MP had told me during our earlier fight that I should say that I don’t find the jokes funny instead of remaining silent, she responded, “Jew yust don know how to leeeve.” Well mother, if let you see my entire profile on FB and all the uncensored pics, I think you would see that I live just fine. Or maybe if you didn’t criticize me every five minutes I could be myself. But of course, if I point out that what she  says to me is not exactly kosher, I’m told I have an “inferiority complex.” She’s been telling me that I’ve had this complex since I was 8.

It was our last day in Barcelona. The last item on the itinerary was Barceloneta beach, which Lion King had told me I had to visit. I desperately wanted to dip my tootsies in the Mediterranean Sea and take back some sand (dork alert). MP HATES the beach, something that I didn’t really know until this trip and completely explains why I never went to beach when I lived in FL. My first beach visit was during Spring Break when my LU friends stopped in Jax on their way to Miami. I lived 20 minutes from the beach, btw.

So, MP didn’t want to go and I did. MP informs TT of what’s going on and he says he doesn’t want to go to the beach either. We decide that I’ll go to the beach and they will do their own thing. I’m doing cartwheels inside. I change and meet them downstairs at the pool to get the infamous metro card. As I am about to get on the elevator, TT starts asking where I’m going. Ummm…dude?  When he “finds” out that I am going to beach, he starts getting pissed that he was not told. Again, ummmm….dude? You were a part of the conversation that we had deciding this. So we’re standing by the elevators, the WTs having a yelling match about the beach as I try to inch over to another elevator and escape. As soon as one gets there, I shout  that I’m leaving, MP waves me off and the doors close.  I start dancing in the elevator. FREEEEEEEEEEEEDOM!!!  Visions of drinking claras w/o lectures and smoking a ciggie dance in my head. I’m practically waltzing to the metro, when I think I hear on the breeze, “eeeeeethy, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeethy.” I freeze, turn around and there she is. MP is walking as fast as her tiny legs can carry her, red shirt billowing in the breeze and grey hair flowing behind her. And that sound you just heard? That was every ounce of a good mood getting sucked out of me. They were coming w. me to the beach. TT however was leaning against the hotel, like douche that he is and sulking b/c we weren’t going back to the room so he could change into a Speedo. That was the first decision that me and MP agreed on the entire trip.

The entire trip to the beach was blissfully quite since the WT weren’t talking to each other. Once we got to the sandy, beautiful and topless beaches of Barceloneta, they had started fighting again. I left them and plopped down to bake. I didn’t lay out as much as I would have liked since I knew MP was miserable and I wouldn’t be enjoying the beach in the style I had hoped.  We regrouped and decided to go back to the hotel so I could change and then go back to the market so TT could buy MORE fresh fruit. Over the span of 10 minutes we repeated this plan at least 3 times and in the time it took to walk from the lil cafe we were chillin’ at to the metro, TT had completely forgotten the plan (perhaps he forgot when he went back into the cafe to tell the waiter that the excess euroes were what we called in America a “tip” and that he could keep it). So when the metro went in the direction of the hotel and not the market, he started fussing again. I’ve decided that he has some sort of mental deficiency that I hope is not genetic.

Finally, we’re leaving to come back to the States. The entire trip the plan had been to buy wine and pack it in the suitcase for the return, but the WT decided that we should buy the wine at duty-free in the airport since we wouldn’t have to pay taxes. I wasn’t so sure that this was a good idea since MP and  I had more security checkpoints to go through thanks to having 50 connecting flights and thought someone once told me they weren’t allowed to bring booze they had purchased at duty-free through. I went ahead a bought a bottle or two and packed them just to be safe.

At the airport, we’re checking our bags and I’m trying to arrange our carry-on so we each have a bag to carry the wine since again, TT has a different flight than ours. In the midst of my trying to do this TT gets snotty and says he’s not buying any wine. Um, wtf? Apparently, MP thinks he thought that we expected him to buy all the wine which is complete bullshit. I never once said anything of the sort and had planned to buy my own wine. I was completely over this trip by now and just wanted to go home, plus I was getting sick and had the beginnings of a fever. TT’s ticket counter would open for another hour and apparently when I suggested we sit at a cafe and wait w/ some coffee, he got pissed (again, money and again, wtf?) so we just went through to our gates. We stopped at duty-free, but surprise, surprise, the wine  was more expensive and the brands we wanted weren’t there.

We get on our plane and we taxi away and then we just sit. And sit. And sit. I’m not sure how long we waited, but it was long enough that wen we landed in Madrid, we had missed our connecting flight to Newark (after being assured we had plenty of time to ride the train from one part to the airport to the other and go through security again)  where we were to meet TT and fly back to DC together.

Air Europa and Continental Airlines? You both suck ass. There were at least 7 peeps who were on our delayed flight and you couldn’t wait another 10 mins? They were able to get me and MP on the next flight, that left 2 hours later. And cue MP freaking out about TT wandering the Newark airport alone. I was more worried that he would miss his connecting to DC flight looking for us and have to pay for a change in ticket and somehow that would end up as my fault.

We landed w/ enough time to make our connection and found TT at the proper gate. Small miracles. And once back home in DC, we found out that TT did go to the duty-free and stock up on wine, but had to re-pack his suitcase b/c they wouldn’t let him bring it through security. Part of me wishes the bottles had shattered in flight, but they didn’t.

They’ve thankfully gone back home, with all of  us vowing never to travel together. Sadly, I decided that before we ever left. Whether or not my uncle things I’m a horrible person doesn’t mean shit to me. Getting left out of the will doesn’t mean shit to me either. Occasionally I would feel bad that didn’t go to Florida to visit the fam and wondered if maybe I should have just moved to Tampa instead of leaving completely. After this trip, I don’t feel bad at all. The next time I visit FL will be for a connecting flight and that is all. I’m done w/ that state and my family.  My mom and will still talk I’m sure, but I’m not hitting the speed dial anytime soon.

and this is why you never travel w/ family, Vol. 3

The next morning, MP declares she’s tired and doesn’t want to do anything. I propose a bus tour. TT wants to go to the mall. We agree on mall then bus tour and I plot my escape later. Now, the mall is directly across the street from the hotel. You can see it from the windows of room. It’s that close. We hit up H&M which is seriously everywhere in Barcelona, much like Starbucks is on every corner here, Zara and a grocery store.  Upon leaving the mall, TT decides he needs to use the bathroom (every single day I had to hear about both their bowel movements or the lack thereof…thank baby jesus for my iPod) and can’t wait to walk across the street to do it, so we plop down at the end of the mall. This  part of the mall had no street exit and was basically a cul-de-sac with a giant tree playground for kids.  It was around 1.30 when MP and I sit and chat and wait. And wait. And wait some more. While TT takes longer than a woman to get ready every morning, this length of time was ridiculous even for him. After 30 mins of waiting, I decided to head back across the street to the hotel w/ the food that needs to be refrigerated while MP waits. I go back, I put up stuff, talk to the concierge and still no WT. Put the shoes back on and head across the street where I run into MP, alone. TT never showed up again. Greeeeeeeeat. We go back to the room, leave all the other bags that MP had, and head back to the mall. We didn’t leave a note, but it was obvious that we had been there. The mall had 3 levels which we walked over and over again. Nothing. MP finds a security guard and I investigate the nearby park. Nothing. We page him. Nothing. MP’s waterworks kick and I basically tell her to suck it up and focus b.c last thing I need is her freaking out.  We go back to the hotel to find his passport so we can go to the concierge and ask for help. We get back to the room and see a note: Dear MP and Miss Pithy, Jajajaja, what a story I have to tell you. I see you have been to the room so I am going back to the mall to look for you. TT.

By now it’s 4.30. We stay in the room and around 7, TT shows up w/ his hi-lar-ious story: Basically the dumbass got the emergency exit sign and the bathroom sign mixed up and went through the emergency exit. When the door closed behind him he realized his mistake, but could not get the door open. Instead of exiting (which he claims there was no exit, but what’s the point of an emergency exit other than exiting???) he spent 45 minutes trying to get the door open again. Somehow he found stairs to the second floor which led to another door that wouldn’t open. Somehow he forced that door open, started searching the mall for us, went back to the hotel, saw that we had been back and instead of staying to wait for us, went back the mall to look for us.

Fucking hysterical. No really, I’m laughing on the inside, I swear.

After stories were exchanged, MP and I head back to the mall to use the free WiFi we discovered during our search. It was at a McDonalds, not a Starbucks. Weird.  TT joined us and then the WT decide they haven’t seen enough of the mall and go for another tour.  After waiting 20 minutes for the craptop to open freaking Firefox, I find out the “free Wifi” isn’t so free. The sign that says free WiFi is written in Catalan, which is similar to Spanish, but occasionally some words are just different enough that I have no idea what it means. This was one of those times. There’s no one w/ working there near me so I can’t ask. I can understand the tiny print that says only 30 mins are free, and by now thanks to the slowness of the donkey turd crap top, 30 mins have come and gone. All around me are demonspawn squealing and running, I can’t close the turdtop since it might take it another 30 mins to come back from standby mode and I don’t really want to walk around carrying the stupid thing completely opened. Meanwhile I can’t leave it and go in and ask since the WT are STILL walking around the mall.  All of the sudden all the stress from the day and the frustration from the week just crashes upon me and I slam the turdtop closed, shove it in the bag and stomped off looking for the Twins. I can’t find them so I go back to the hotel to purchase an hour’s worth of service, cost be damned. I’m miserable. I’m angry. I really want a ciggie, but am unsure as to proper way to ask about bumming one or if that is a total faux-pax here and with my luck the WT would catch me mid-drag and THAT is not a fight I really want to have . My dream trip has been turned into a nightmare by a pair of people under 5 ft in height.

The WT come back and I warn them that I am in a black mood, so please don’t try talking to me. They get pissed and leave. I debate throwing the turdtop out the window. I settle with going to the pool. And who do I find at the pool but the WT? Seriously, even when I try to get rid of them I can’t. After a lil roasty-toasty under the evening sun, I go back and they are still sitting in the pool deck lobby. MP inquires about the tour bus. I tell her that it’s probably too late and we can go tomorrow. I had planned a day trip to Figueres to see the Dali museum, but after the mall shitshow, herding the WT for that expedition is more than I can take. I tell her that the tour is 20 euroes each, and ker-pow, another money lecture followed by the metro ticket lecture. See, we had originally purchased a metro ticket worth 10 rides. Unlike the DC metro, we can all ride with the one ticket, it just won’t last as long. However, this concept wasn’t fully comprehended by TT and he started fussing about the metro ticket usage and the money. So to shut him up, MP and I purchased a 2nd ticket for us to ride on. Now thanks to having 2 tickets and the entire day being wasted on hunting wabbits, we had an excess of rides left on the metro tickets which was completely unacceptable. But not nearly as unacceptable as the idea of spending a combined 60 euroes for the all-day bus tour. So it was agreed that the next day would be on foot.

the wacky hijnks, they continue…

and this is why you never travel w/ family, Vol. 2

The next day we did our touristy schtuff. The hotel didn’t serve a continental breakfast, so MP and I were hungry and decided we would grab something at a cafe during our first stop. First restaurant we saw was some sort of buffet (you really can’t stop a 60+ Floridian when they see the words “buffet”) so we pop in. Immediately TT starts asking what we’re doing, why are we stopping, and MP tells him that we are getting breakfast. He  looks at the price (10 euroes per person which didn’t seem outrageous) and starts fussing. So there we are in the foyer of the restaurant debating whether or not we are going to eat while the hostess looks at us like we’re idiots. MP finally tells him to can it and we go get our plates. He refuses to eat, but eventually nibbles off of MP’s plate. I resist the urge to use my fork for something other than my food. We had to go through this everytime we stopped to eat outside of dinner.

During that first day a little incident happened that I didn’t find out about until later. We’re walking along Las Ramblas, and some dudes are running a little scam w/ that shell game. We walk past it and the  WT practically wet themselves w/ excitement about the game. I roll my eyes, tell them it’s a scam and to keep walking. They ignore me and go to the game. I walk off. A little while later I look and my mom is squealing that she knows where the nut is, blah blah blah. When I finally drag them away, it’s after they’ve bet money and lost. Well, when TT was taking money oout of his tight little wallet, he got pickpocketed and lost around 100 euroes, something that bugged him the entire trip. If you’re dumb enough to play that game, then you sorta deserve what you get. Oh and it was my fault that I didn’t prevent them from playing the game, despite my telling them it was a scam. I didn’t tell them in the proper manner.

Now those of you that have seen my FB pics may have noticed that I tend to strike certain poses. Truth is we NEVER took pictures growing up (against the religions) so I really never started until college, therefore I always feel really self-conscious about smiling for pics.  I do my lil’ poses and it helps. Well, the Twins aren’t a fan of that, so every. single. time. they take a pic (and they each have a camera, plus mine) I get a lecture on how I’m not smiling properly. Every time. Even w/ my camera, I have to endure the lecture and visual representation of how I should look. At the end of such lectures I didn’t feel like smiling or even taking the picture.  I  just bared my teeth and they loved it. I eventually placed a rule that my camera means my pics so I can smile or pose however I wanted. They agreed but kept trying to make do the smile they wanted by smiling behind the camera. Forget the throat, I wanted to punch them in the face.

That night we had a v. nice dinner and flamenco show to go to, after getting ready back at the hotel, we were cutting it close on time. I voted we take a cab since we were bound to be a lil sweaty and this was my bday day and dinner and I  wanted to arrive sweat-free. Cue up a lecture on spending money. They finally agree to the taxi and as we zoom along, my mother leans over and starts on about how this taxi’s meter is faster than the taxi we had yesterday. Everytime it changed, you could hear a little sound of protest coming from her.  We arrived early to the restaurant and since they have special seating for the show, they can’t let us in early. Cue up a lecture on how we could have taken the Metro and now we’ve wasted money. We sit at an outdoor cafe and wait, watching all the FC Barcelona fans on their way to watch the big game at the jumbo-tron down at Maremagnum, when MP leans over to TT and says “Ees a gud teeng we tooky a taxi, so we cud watchy dese peeeple, no?”  Down, stabby hand, down.

Now when it comes to riding the Metro, I’m particular. If I don’t get the seat to myself, I’d rather stand. And unless I’m really tired, I generally prefer to stand. Well, when riding w. the WonderTwins, if your not sitting with them or standing right next to them, you obviously are being rude. Well, maybe I was, but after the days leading up to the trip and now being crammed into a single hotel room w/ them, I sorta wanted to be alone and if I could get a little distance via Metro, I was taking it. Besides, it’s not like I was in a separate car, I just wasn’t in their laps like they wanted.

One of events I had planned was a tapas tour of La Rambla, Barri Gotic and other little parts nearby. This was the only tour I had planned since I knew we could manage on our own. As we sat in Starbucks waiting for the tour guide, the lecture came: Why are we doing this, why isn’t the guy here, maybe it was a scam, did you sign us up for a scam, you know there will be other people on this tour right, great now we have to talk to other people, the guide isn’t here and we probably got ripped off….

I wanted to throw myself into oncoming traffic, but I doubt that a Vespa is any match for my ass.

Finally the tour guide arrive (um, hello we’re in a Spanish-speaking country and you expect things to be on time??) and we start our tour, which feature some overlap on stuff we had seen the day before. There were slight schedule conflicts, between the tour and us, so I knew this would happen, but figured it would work out just fine. And it did, but of course what did I hear but TT whispering “why doan jew telly a heem that we see dis jesterday?” or “I knew/saw dat already.”  Twitch, twitch.

Every day was like that. The mornings were fine, but at the end of the day something would happen. The third day, we were heading back to a market that we had been to twice already. TT wanted to buy fresh fruit and I wanted to hit up a tapas place we had been to on the tour that had phenomenal food. The tour ended there and as soon was we were done eating the WT wanted to go. I wanted to stay and order another tapa or two, but got the money lecture again. So I thought a good compromise would be, me going to the tapas place and them going to the market. Yeah, not so much. We went our separate ways, and when I re-joined them TT was tired and didn’t want to go this bakery that MP wanted to go to. So we left TT and went to the bakery and pew, pew pew it came. The lecture to end all lectures.

How I was rude and ungrateful, that I didn’t want to hang out w. them, how my uncle was sooooo disappointed in me, I didn’t laugh at their jokes, how I was being threatened with being written out of TT’s will,  and on and on and on. I responded truthfully that they were taking the fun out of this trip for me, that I really didn’t want him on this trip and that I never found what they laughed about particularly funny, that I don’t like it when he just stares at me (which he did on several occasions, and I have no idea why. My boobs maybe? ew)  and most importantly, I couldn’t be myself around them because when I tried I would be lectured. Case in point, we were at a cafe and I ordered a Clara, which is a mix of beer and lemon Fanta. Sounds awful but it was one of the tastiest things I had ever drank. Trying to make conversation w. my mother (who was giving me the stinkeye for ordering the Clara in the first place) I said something about liking the drink and recreating it at home. The response: “Jew know dat beer makey jew fat.” I very seriously considered calling  Cuntinental about changing my ticket to leave earlier.

After an oh-so-awkward dinner (with more ordering fun when it came to drinks thanks to TT not understanding a damn thing in either language) we retired with my making plans to escape on my own the next night for some clubbing.

dun dun dun….

and this is why you never travel w/ family, Vol. 1

Ah, the trip.  When Sex Therapist called me after my return her first question was “So, how was the trip?” And I was silent. Truth was and still is,  I have no idea how to answer.  Was it awesome? Parts of it were. Other parts, not so much. Did you have fun? Sometimes yes and sometimes no. I’m going to get all the crap that went on during the trip out of the way now, so I can focus on the parts that were good.

As my tweets will show, prior to the trip MommaPithy and TioTiny were getting on my nerves a bit. I live in a  jr. 1-bedroom/studio basement apt. My bedroom doesn’t have a door, just curtains. The only real door  within the apt is the bathroom door and that is made of canvas. So in other words, no real privacy. Three people and one cat all in the same little area for 4 days. While they did adhere to my “no Fox News when I’m here” policy after the first night, I forgot toextend that to all types of mind-numbing Spanish game shows. Forget Hulu, 12 Corazones and Sabado Gigante is what will turn minds to mush. Painfully.

In the 4 days prior to our leaving I had at least 2 lectures regarding my weight and 3 regarding my “alcoholism.” Apparently ordering a margarita at lunch and having 2-3 glasses of wine that night means I cannot live without drinking and therefore am an addict.

Here’s the thing about my mom: on her own, yes she’s slightly annoying with her lectures and her opinions, but I can manage her. I tell her to drop whatever she’s yapping about and she will.  Add another family member or one of her friends and she becomes this hyper-sensitive creature pouncing on my every move.  My mom always says that she’s afraid to meet my friends b/c she thinks they will judge me b/c of her looks and her accent. I always tell her she’s crazy since if they were my friends they wouldn’t do that. And the peeps that aren’t really my friends do not want to find out whether or not I’m joking about the machete. (I’m not, btw) When my mom is w/ her peeps and me, it’s like she HAS to over-criticize everything as if to prove that she tried to raise me in the proper way and I’ve turned into this rebellious monster outside of her influence. Almost as if she’s ashamed of me for not being her little clone.

Add to this my uncle, who is a clone of my mother in every way, and you have a not so fun lead-up to the trip. My original plan for this trip was to go alone. If my friends came, great, but I was fine going alone.  My mom expressed interest in going, so I made it a mother/daughter trip. She was the one who had filled my head w/ stories os Spain, so I thought it fitting that we go together. And since combining my mother and my friends NEVER turns out well for me (more lectures on the bad influences I hang out with), I didn’t push matters w. my friends. Three weeks before we leave, my uncle invites himself on the trip and my mother, of course, has no issue w/ it. My uncle used to be fun (I hadn’t seen him in almost 4 years as part of my Florida boycott), sodespite my doubts, I didn’t fuss, not that it would have mattered anyway.

My uncle isn’t loaded, but he does have more money than my mother and I, so my mother thought he would be help out with things like dinners and such. We weren’t expecting to be our sugar daddy on the trip, but to be a little more generous when it came to splitting the bill. Boy, was she wrong, but more on that later.

It’s travel day. We drop off TioTiny since he has an earlier flight, come back and then cab to DCA. During check-in, we discover that our bags are overweight. Instead of checking a 3rd bag like I wanted (despite repeated reading the Continental Airlines luggage rules allowing for 2 bags per customer for European travelers, MommaPithy was convinced that we would be charged for the 3rd and 4th bags), we had tried to cram 3 people’s stuff into 2 bags. TioTiny didn’t check anything since he would be at the Barcelona airport for 3 hours waiting on us. He didn’t want to go to the hotel and wait b/c that would be a waste of cab fare.  So there we are at check-in yanking all the heavy, non-liquid stuff we could find. In the end, every pair of shoes we brought were shoved into our carry-on bags.

We get to our gate with a lengthy stretch of waiting ahead of us. MP is hungry so I situate her behind a large post (she thought I was trying to find a quiet place to sit) and go the bar/grill to order noms and a shot of something resembling a SoCo and lime shot. We wait and wait and wait. Finally, it’s close to our original boarding time 6.50 (our flight was to land at Newark at 8.19 and our next flight to Madrid was leaving at 10.45), so we move closer to the gate. Boarding time passes and there’s no announcement. Odd. I get up to check what’s going on and I see that our flight is now leaving at 7.15, and then 7.30. I queue up w/ the other passengers to make sure we’ll have time to make our connection when I see that the time has been changed AGAIN, this time to 8.10, 9 minutes before we were supposed to land. And still, no announcement from Continental Airlines.

Um, Cuntinental Airlines, can we have a word? It’s generally considered good customer service to inform your customers that their fucking flight has been delayed to the point that the departure time is what the arrival time would have been. Especially since a majority of the people on the flight had connections to make. It’s also wise to make yourannouncement during the first set of delays and not at 7.50. If the people lined up had not starting yelling at the inept asswipes that Cuntinental employed, I seriously doubt that there would have been any acknowledgement at all to the delay. Also, having the CORRECT gate information for people attempting to make their connecting flights, would be advised as to prevent little grey-haired 65-yr-old ladies runningaround trying to make their flights. Just a thought.

We made it to Barcelona fine, with the only issue in Barca being the horribly designed airport and complete lack of signage. We went to the wrong baggage claim, waiting in vain for our cases, giving directions to the correct claim, which required going thru security again, getting lost, asking for more directions, find the correct place only to not find our suitcases. They were in a little waiting room, waiting for us. We then went thru customs, again, and found TioTiny where he had been waiting for the past 4 1/2 hours. By now, I’m tired, sweaty, makeup worn off, cranky and really have to pee. First thing my uncle does? “Let’s taky a peekshure!!” I wanted to punch him in the throat.

Once settled at the hotel, we go across the street to a little shopping area that has restaurants for dinner. As a kid, we rarely ever went out to eat. Maybe once a year and that was b/c the pastor wanted to go. Now MommaPithy goes out a little more, but the only restaurant she goes to is Golden Corral. Quite the discerning palate, that one.  While I am no restaurant expert, I do know that following the seating host into the restaurant while shouting out what you want to order is generally not the best way to get service.

Nor is it polite to ask the waiter if the water is safe to drink. Regarding the water, the WonderTwins and I had a fight over whether or not the water was safe to drink. Considering that we weren’t in Colombia, none of my friends had said anything about the water and this was a v. modern city, I didn’t give drinking the water a second thought. First thing I did was chug a glass from the tap when we got into the room. The Twins, MommaPithy especially, were convinced that the water was bad and we had to ask. So at the table, TioTiny asked the waiter about the water; the words had barely left his lips when MP started admonishing him for asking such a stupid question. I wanted to punch them both in the throat. Repeatedly.

Then it was time to pay the bill. Again, clapping your hands and shouting at random servers that you want the “ticket” is not the best way to achieve what you want. Also? tipping less than 15% is not a good tip. I’m not sure what the rules are for tipping in Europe, but when in doubt go w. 20% has been my rule. The Twins didn’t like my rule v. much.  Cue up a lecture on spending money.

to be continued…(mostly b/c I have a lot to vent and I’m a wordy bitch)

Barcelona, bishes!!

writing from the world’s crappiest craptop. Seriously, this thing makes my work PC awesome in comparison, so you know this is a fucking piece of donkey shit. Also, we haven’t found an internet cafe yet, despite lugging the donkey shit craptop around Las Ramblas, so we bought the hotel’s access for a day. So this will probably be my only update/note/email. The cell phones won’t work here either, so no Twitter. God, I miss Twitter. I’ve been jotting stuff down in a notebook, so I do have goods for later when I’m not defiling myself w/ this donkey turd. I really hate this craptop.

In Barcelona!!! Haven’t killed MommaPithy or TioTiny (the Wonder Twins with a super power of annoyance) yet, but it’s only been one day. Thank baby Jesus I have my iPod, otherwise it would get uuuuuuuuuuuuuugly.

Flight was great minus delays and full-sprinting to get to my flight. MommaPithy’s not so much for the sprinting. It was kinda funny, had I not been freaking out that we would miss our flight to madrid. Made it to barcelona, became intimately aquainted will the airport while trying to find our luggage (we may have set a new record for going thru security checks). My suitcase is completely fucked up and hardly usable anymore, but nothing was stolen.

From the 100+ emails, I saw some facebook activity, so thank you all for the bday wishes. The WonderTwins had forgotten until the hotel sent up some cake and a bottle of champagne for me!! Champagne, you and I are gonna have some good times as I chug you down.

MommaPithy got mad tipsy last night from her single glass of sangria. After my third glass, the wonder twins became bearable. Note to self: drink more.

Loving Barcelona. Will have to return sans the elderly.You know what’s really fun? Having the same fucking argument everytime we decide to eat: TioTiny is fucking cheap and doesn’t want to eat out, MommaPithy’s extent of eating out is the Golden Corral. The compromise: Fix sandwiches here, and only eat dinner out. I’m the one figuring out tips (they are horrible tippers) and navigating through the city w/ the maps. And we haven’t gotten lost. Barcelona, I think we’re meant to be!!

There a huge soccer game today (Barcelona vs. Manchester U) so tons of soccer hotties are about. We did las Ramblas today, (not as awesome as I was expecting) and the port or whatever is at the end of Las Ramblas. Loaded up on fresh noms at La Boqueria, which was exactly what I was expecting.

This post is all over the place. Now, to get pretty for tonight’s show.

Latas!!

oink-alicious

Pig roast eve!!

By this time tomorrow, I will probably in the midst of a v. pleasant alcohol induced buzz watching Nacho the Pig slowly turn over an open flame. Yes, I’m naming it. We’re gonna hug it and squeeze it and call it Nacho De Peeeg.  You gotta say the name w/ the (in) appropriate accent.

The history behind the Annual Drinko de Mayo Piggie Roast can be found here, and this year is shaping up to just as memorable, and I haven’t even left DC yet.

On Wednesday Chihuahuha called to tell me that she had not been successful in her efforts to secure a pig. The Mennonites cannot be found and other porky places require more lead time to prep the pig. It’s a pig people, how much time do you really need? Is there a waiting period? Background checks? It’s a pig, not a gun.  And hello, Swine Flu. It’s not like peeps are clamoring for whole pigs right now.

The one farm that could accommodate our time-sensitive needs had one teeny, tiny caveat: We would have to kill (and presumably dress)  the pig ourselves.  While Chihuahua and I are v. independent and capable women, (I have no problem being elbow deep in the pig trying to get the spit through and trust me, that can be a bitch)  I don’t see how our killing the pig would go well. For starters I believe the most popular method of porkicide  requires that one be up close and personal w/ Nacho and I’m not so thrilled w. that idea.  I have no problem shooting it, but a) we don’t have a gun (sad face) and b) hitting a moving target can be damn tricky.

While Lynchbore was being stingy with their Porky’s, the DC metro area is apparently a plethora for all things oink.  No waiting period and no having to channel your inner John Locke and do the dirty deed yourself.  Just plop down your pesos and walk away with a bodybagged  Wilbur.

Which leads to the newest Pithy adventure.  After work Le Coache and  I will be picking up a roast-ready  porker from the awesome Euro-Latino Grocery in Arlington, throwing Nacho De Peeeg  in the back seat of my Kia and driving 3 hours to Lynchburg.

Yes, driving 3 hours w/ a dead pig in the backseat.

And the hilarity ensues.

happy birthday to meeeee in 20 days

I looked at the calendar today and it hit me that my 30th bday is in 20 days. After my OMGWTFBBQIHAVEN’TDONEANYTHINGWITHMYLIFEOMGI’MSUCHALOSERQUICKGETMEAPAPERBAGTOBREATHINTO moment, I drank some coffee and was fine. Despite the occasional aforementioned moment, I’m quite content with my life. I do wish I had a bigger apartment so I could entertain more peeps (having a canvas door for the bathroom and a glass bathroom/kitchen wall makes for interesting times), but my Lair is purrfect from me and Nutsak, the One-Eyed Wonder Cat.

No Sangria Left Behind is in 18 (!!!!!!!!!!) days and my actual 30th bday will be spent splashing happily in the bottom of a bottle(s) of sangria.  UnclePithy is officially joining me and MommaPithy which means any hope I had of planting my flag w/ a Spanish hottie just became a FAIL. The man might be 4′11 but he has a death glare that would make a Marine pause.  (maybe I should call him TioTiny…hmm) Granted my chances for riding a Barcelona BaloneyPony were never that great to begin since MommaPithy and I are sharing a room,  but now they’re really fucked. Or not. Bright side is I will have TONS of blog fodder.

Since my bday will be in Barcelona, my bday here in DC has yet to be planned. I’ve got the weekend pretty much narrowed down, but that’s it. I have no clue where to go or what to do.  Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

At one point, Le Coache and I had thought of recreating the dinner party scene from Chocolat, but after a while I kiboshed that since it was getting a wee bit pricey.  Part of me wants to say “fuck it all, let’s just go back to Chi Cha Lounge” but that’s where last years bday was and I really want my 30th to stand out a lil. I’m undecided if I should go to a fave but pricey (to me cuz I’m broke)  restaurant, Mie N Yu or go with an more exotic flair with one of the Marrakesh restaurants that I haven’t been to and am sorta confused as to which one is better or maybe I should go to Zaytinya or Jaleo? Gah!

I want to end the night at a bar, preferably of a dive nature as  I want my celebration to be exotic elegance with a hint of trashy, just like me! At some point I’d like dancing to be squeezed in as well.

So interwebz, I ask for your help. Restaurant suggestions, bar suggestions, party ideas, anything!

Am I over thinking this? Maybe.  Am I expecting too much for a bday celebration? Maybe. But let’s face it –  my boobs won’t always be this awesome and we need to party while their awesomeness is still located in their original location and not sagging around my knees.