(Photo: Shepards Pie Dinner 13-3 , mgreco)Welcome back my friends
to the show that never ends
we're so glad you could attend
Come inside, come inside!
-Emerson, Lake and Palmer
Lazy morning. Flatmates are all gone so the prog rock has been cranking since 11:30 (it's 2;15 now). I'm on the porch. About 60 degrees. May got to a bullfight later. Or jam with Evandro. Or just sit on my ass. Sunday lately is the only day I don't work.
"How un-Spanish" American Laura said.
It's true. we had dinner last night until about 1:30. It was a great time. She's a very intense gal - and crazy as a bedbug, but just a joy to hang out with.
I've come to the decision I'm going to play my hand as just being firends for now. If something else happens, then fine. She's kind of batshit.
She's angry, smart, political, radically liberal and talks at light speed.
She's also got a strange penchant for throwing up when we go out.
I sometimes have this effect on people.
Last night we were at this great little Spanish place in Chueca. It's all locals and you can get a three course meal with a beer for like 8 Euros.
She was drinking wine. It's the house red and it's kind of sweet and icky. And of the sudden she stops drinking and puts her glass down. She pulls something that was in the glass off of her lip. I couldn't see what it was, but she kind of laughed - choked, continued to laugh and mumbled "I'll be right back."
I look around her place mat for a carcass to do an autopsy, but couldn't find it.
She came back, sat down, and we both laughed.
She eventually found it and it was just a fuzz of something, but at first glance it looked like a highly evolved insect.
So we're walking to a bar and then she mentions that she actually threw up in the bathroom.
I laugh and tell her she seems to do this when we go out.
"When else did I throw up?"
"That night at Joy (club). You came back from the bathroom and told me you threw up in your hand. From the whiskey and soda."
"Oh my god! I totally forgot. That drink was fucking disgusting. That was your fault," she laughed.
"Now, now. You ordered that of your own volition."
"It looked good."
"It is good."
"I totally forgot about that. Oh man. I do always yak when I go out with you"
"That's okay. From the way you described it, it seemed quite dainty."
We both laughed.
"So we'll just have to go out more often if you ever want to be bolemic."
More laughter.
Then we went to this bar that's right on the main square in Chueca. People drink beer out in the open. Cross dressers and the transgendered and probably a lot of in-betweens pass by, mingling with the crusty old-timers of the Spanish old guard. It's a scene, baby. It's a scene.
Laura was plastered, so we said good-bye and we still had time to get the last Metro.
And then I stopped in to the local about 2. Roberto, JJ, and James the bartender were all there.
The bar closed at half three and I walked home with pleasant thoughts of a crazy, young, female lawyer I know from Houston swilring through my soggy brain. Ay Carumba!
"How un-Spanish" American Laura said.
It's true. we had dinner last night until about 1:30. It was a great time. She's a very intense gal - and crazy as a bedbug, but just a joy to hang out with.
I've come to the decision I'm going to play my hand as just being firends for now. If something else happens, then fine. She's kind of batshit.
She's angry, smart, political, radically liberal and talks at light speed.
She's also got a strange penchant for throwing up when we go out.
I sometimes have this effect on people.
Last night we were at this great little Spanish place in Chueca. It's all locals and you can get a three course meal with a beer for like 8 Euros.
She was drinking wine. It's the house red and it's kind of sweet and icky. And of the sudden she stops drinking and puts her glass down. She pulls something that was in the glass off of her lip. I couldn't see what it was, but she kind of laughed - choked, continued to laugh and mumbled "I'll be right back."
I look around her place mat for a carcass to do an autopsy, but couldn't find it.
She came back, sat down, and we both laughed.
She eventually found it and it was just a fuzz of something, but at first glance it looked like a highly evolved insect.
So we're walking to a bar and then she mentions that she actually threw up in the bathroom.
I laugh and tell her she seems to do this when we go out.
"When else did I throw up?"
"That night at Joy (club). You came back from the bathroom and told me you threw up in your hand. From the whiskey and soda."
"Oh my god! I totally forgot. That drink was fucking disgusting. That was your fault," she laughed.
"Now, now. You ordered that of your own volition."
"It looked good."
"It is good."
"I totally forgot about that. Oh man. I do always yak when I go out with you"
"That's okay. From the way you described it, it seemed quite dainty."
We both laughed.
"So we'll just have to go out more often if you ever want to be bolemic."
More laughter.
Then we went to this bar that's right on the main square in Chueca. People drink beer out in the open. Cross dressers and the transgendered and probably a lot of in-betweens pass by, mingling with the crusty old-timers of the Spanish old guard. It's a scene, baby. It's a scene.
Laura was plastered, so we said good-bye and we still had time to get the last Metro.
And then I stopped in to the local about 2. Roberto, JJ, and James the bartender were all there.
The bar closed at half three and I walked home with pleasant thoughts of a crazy, young, female lawyer I know from Houston swilring through my soggy brain. Ay Carumba!
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