International Incidents and Balls

Well, today class started. Looks like I’ll get a great prep for teaching in a very intensive 4 week course. The class is 11 people; Brits, Irish, Americans, a Bell (Belgium) and a little dude from Portugal who is short enough to fit in my suitcase. However, I have found it easier to split the class into 3 groups; guys, girls I would have sex with and girls I would not have sex with. Respectively the groups contain 4, 4 and 2. I did not include myself as I have sex with myself all the time (sorry Mom! I now regret the lack of foresight in sending you the link for the blog.) Anyway, 4 out of 6 is great odds!

Well, the land lady assured me I will have hot water when I shower tomorrow morning, but I’m not holding my breath ( I’ll need it if the shower is as cold as it was last night). I now know exactly how big my skull is because the water was so icy it pulled tight around my cranium. In case you’re playing along at home, it’s ¾ of a meter, however f*#king big that is. F*#king metric system. And Celsius! I need to learn some of that crap, and quick.

I am in the kitchen now, even though I don’t need the Internet because my room is the size of a small cell. I should entitle my blog ‘the Spanish Prisoner.’ In a week or two I’ll start looking for a new place with some of my classmates.

Our teacher is a thin little bald guy with a scary bulbous head. He’s from Denmark, but was a Brit for years and is kind of see through he’s so pale. It looks like he took most of his dress cues from Bella Lugosi, but he’s an excellent teacher.

Anyway, I went to this bar last night because I was wide awake after sleeping from 13:00 to 18:30 (did we conquer this place that they use military time?). I went out at 23:30, which is the norm for the Spaniards. I went to the mural bar.

I was concerned that a lot of the men seemed to be grabbing their balls a lot. I mean a lot. Way more than the universal 1.3 second rule. Then this tall drunk guy punched his apparent friend in the balls. He hit him hard from the time it took for the dude to recover. I later found out they were brothers! I’m okay with Euro guy kissing each other, but sac volleyball is a heresy! And it wasn’t a gay bar as there were plenty of senoritas caliente!

Anyway, the guy who got his nads punched (Juan Carlos) was quite friendly once he could stand up straight again. He later brought me a beer. We played darts (I kicked his Iberian ass) and I got him a rum and coke. He then told me he was a cop (we spoke in Spanglish as I realized my Spanish was quite rusty). Then this very drunk old timer kept trying to talk to me and get close, probably trying to pick my pocket. Juan Carlos stood between he and me and then told him to get lost. All I could understand was that the old rummy was saying something about Kuwait. The man then went down to the bar and stared yelling because Juan Carlos had sided with el Americano (that would be me). He slammed down his beer, saying things like ‘hijo de puta’ – son of a whore (wow, you REALLY shouldn’t read this blog anymore Mom).

Juan Carlos told me to be very careful of pick pockets and to just carry a copy of my passport, which I knew and I do.

Then he asked me if I want to go to a whore house. “Tu Sabes…,” he said “…fucky fucky.”

“First of all…,” I said, “..only little Asian dudes say ‘fucky, fucky.’ You’re weirding me out. Second of all, I thought you were a cop.” He confirmed he was, so I guess it’s just like back home in North Jersey.

We all know I love whores, but the whole thing sounded fishy and I like to blow my money on whores at the end of the month, so I just went home. It’s called fiduciary responsibility. See mom, something to be proud of!