Creepified
May. 22nd, 2006 05:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleDo not look to me for new news: I’ll only give you old news. Or possibly no news. Anyway, here’s this week’s summary:
I did watch the football final with the flatmates, their significant others, a chick and her significant other. I’m my own significant other. As stereotypically expected, the boys were in a terrible state of nerves, clearly reflected by the entire city’s state that whole day. There was plenty of beer (which I didn’t drink, although I paid my share by slight oversight) and sunflower seeds, which are the edible equivalent of the stress ball. Us girls got stressed out in sympathy and between us ate what could have been a whole field of sunflowers. But we ate the suckers, so no baby sunflowers.
There was the general yelling and cursing as the first goal of the Barça was cancelled. There was yet more cursing and, eventually, with the first goal from the Arsenal, a definite sagging of shoulders. David, Alba’s beau, had to take a little time out because he was on the edge of tears. (He had warned Alba that tonight she’d see the best and/or worst of him.)
Bear in mind that the Barça hadn’t been in the playing field for the final game in 14 years, although they had then won something like 10 or 11 of these Eurpoean Cups.
There were also a few racist comments in the general sense of, "do something, mofo”.
But then Eto’o, of all players (take that, racist and xenophobic bastards), got the ball in and there was much bouncing and yelling from the balcony at the people just across from us. It was even more embarrassing at the second goal, but the girlfriends heaved a sigh of relief. They didn’t want to imagine how their beau’s would have gotten had Barça lost.
Carolina and I cleaned up whilst everyone else went to join the city at some city square.
Friday there was no work at the office, which totally sucked because I was all keen to work in the morning and hang around in the afternoon. But no, my plans were fubar and I chatted with MCarmen and had lunch at her place. That afternoon I walked what might have been the equivalent of the entire Irish coastline (i.e. for hours) and eventually got to the mall, where I had a coffee and croissant then watched De battre, mon coer c’est arrette, which was quite good, although sometimes I just stared at the screen going, "no, darling, no, don’t do that”, tears in my eyes. I got home at an ungodly hour, utterly exhausted, to an empty apartment.
Saturday I went to Cubelles, hung about with people who don’t actually talk to me, then came back to Barcelona. Apartment was still empty. I took the opportunity to steal a cushioned chair from the entrance for my desk. If anyone raises a fuss, that’ll mean that they’re major jerks because 1) no one uses this chair, 2) there’s a zillion more in the living room, and 3) the chair I had before was a foldable cloth chair. Not conducive to sitting.
Today, Sunday, I walked the equivalent of Italy’s coastline and ended up at the beach, which doesn’t so much have sand as loose dusty dirt. Read a bit (Irland by Frank Delaney) then had an expensive and disappointing pita at a Lebanese place in the same movie mall. Then I sat in front of the metro for half an hour debating wtf to do with myself. Eventually ignored aching feet and walked to the port, where I read some more, berating myself for forgetting the sunscreen lotion in Cubelles until I got tired.
Just as I was leaving this really tall, Moroccan–looking guy stops and asks me if I speak French or Spanish. Somewhat proud at being able to say both, I prepare my self for professing my ignorance of the city and apologizing for not being able to point him in the direction of whatever it is he was looking for.
The man just keeps on chatting.
And chatting.
Going on about wanting to be friends, and where am I from, and might we go out for dinner.
O.O
I tell him I’m in a hurry and want to leave, but he won’t shut up and I’m too much of a stupid girl to just be rude and leave. He asks me age (22 vs his 31) and whether I have a beau of husband (honestly, people, I look like I’m 17 most of the time, so him asking if I’m married is freaky). Apparently he wants to get married. Which is great, fine, now leave please.
Once again, I show great stupidity and a severe pathological lack of rudeness as he steers me to a parkbench. He goes on about being friends, my aura of serenity and all that bs, gives me his work email and number (he’s at the Autonomic University) and I, *wince*, give him my anonymous fake-ish email and run away.
Yes, I am that stupid and easy to play. The continuous chant of “bullshit” didn’t stop the occasional consideration of, “hey, in theory, this all sounds great.”
Then again, he thought I looked Czech and had a Czech accent. Between that and his comment of wanting to get married and having a beautiful apartment, it makes me wonder whether he thought I was a pay-girl. Lots Czech and Romanian immigrants are doing that here.
Got on the bus, highly disturbed, and got home, still highly disturbed. Immediatley I loaded a washing machine and put on my “Music viz rocks in” cd ( a mix of Disturbed, System of a Down and others).
Now, eating Walkers Pure Butter shortbread cookies (hubba-hubba) and sipping my tea, I’ve managed to calm myself down a bit.
That anonymous email is juggled_geese@yahoo.com and will not be fake to you, dear readers, should you wish to email me.
I did watch the football final with the flatmates, their significant others, a chick and her significant other. I’m my own significant other. As stereotypically expected, the boys were in a terrible state of nerves, clearly reflected by the entire city’s state that whole day. There was plenty of beer (which I didn’t drink, although I paid my share by slight oversight) and sunflower seeds, which are the edible equivalent of the stress ball. Us girls got stressed out in sympathy and between us ate what could have been a whole field of sunflowers. But we ate the suckers, so no baby sunflowers.
There was the general yelling and cursing as the first goal of the Barça was cancelled. There was yet more cursing and, eventually, with the first goal from the Arsenal, a definite sagging of shoulders. David, Alba’s beau, had to take a little time out because he was on the edge of tears. (He had warned Alba that tonight she’d see the best and/or worst of him.)
Bear in mind that the Barça hadn’t been in the playing field for the final game in 14 years, although they had then won something like 10 or 11 of these Eurpoean Cups.
There were also a few racist comments in the general sense of, "do something, mofo”.
But then Eto’o, of all players (take that, racist and xenophobic bastards), got the ball in and there was much bouncing and yelling from the balcony at the people just across from us. It was even more embarrassing at the second goal, but the girlfriends heaved a sigh of relief. They didn’t want to imagine how their beau’s would have gotten had Barça lost.
Carolina and I cleaned up whilst everyone else went to join the city at some city square.
Friday there was no work at the office, which totally sucked because I was all keen to work in the morning and hang around in the afternoon. But no, my plans were fubar and I chatted with MCarmen and had lunch at her place. That afternoon I walked what might have been the equivalent of the entire Irish coastline (i.e. for hours) and eventually got to the mall, where I had a coffee and croissant then watched De battre, mon coer c’est arrette, which was quite good, although sometimes I just stared at the screen going, "no, darling, no, don’t do that”, tears in my eyes. I got home at an ungodly hour, utterly exhausted, to an empty apartment.
Saturday I went to Cubelles, hung about with people who don’t actually talk to me, then came back to Barcelona. Apartment was still empty. I took the opportunity to steal a cushioned chair from the entrance for my desk. If anyone raises a fuss, that’ll mean that they’re major jerks because 1) no one uses this chair, 2) there’s a zillion more in the living room, and 3) the chair I had before was a foldable cloth chair. Not conducive to sitting.
Today, Sunday, I walked the equivalent of Italy’s coastline and ended up at the beach, which doesn’t so much have sand as loose dusty dirt. Read a bit (Irland by Frank Delaney) then had an expensive and disappointing pita at a Lebanese place in the same movie mall. Then I sat in front of the metro for half an hour debating wtf to do with myself. Eventually ignored aching feet and walked to the port, where I read some more, berating myself for forgetting the sunscreen lotion in Cubelles until I got tired.
Just as I was leaving this really tall, Moroccan–looking guy stops and asks me if I speak French or Spanish. Somewhat proud at being able to say both, I prepare my self for professing my ignorance of the city and apologizing for not being able to point him in the direction of whatever it is he was looking for.
The man just keeps on chatting.
And chatting.
Going on about wanting to be friends, and where am I from, and might we go out for dinner.
O.O
I tell him I’m in a hurry and want to leave, but he won’t shut up and I’m too much of a stupid girl to just be rude and leave. He asks me age (22 vs his 31) and whether I have a beau of husband (honestly, people, I look like I’m 17 most of the time, so him asking if I’m married is freaky). Apparently he wants to get married. Which is great, fine, now leave please.
Once again, I show great stupidity and a severe pathological lack of rudeness as he steers me to a parkbench. He goes on about being friends, my aura of serenity and all that bs, gives me his work email and number (he’s at the Autonomic University) and I, *wince*, give him my anonymous fake-ish email and run away.
Yes, I am that stupid and easy to play. The continuous chant of “bullshit” didn’t stop the occasional consideration of, “hey, in theory, this all sounds great.”
Then again, he thought I looked Czech and had a Czech accent. Between that and his comment of wanting to get married and having a beautiful apartment, it makes me wonder whether he thought I was a pay-girl. Lots Czech and Romanian immigrants are doing that here.
Got on the bus, highly disturbed, and got home, still highly disturbed. Immediatley I loaded a washing machine and put on my “Music viz rocks in” cd ( a mix of Disturbed, System of a Down and others).
Now, eating Walkers Pure Butter shortbread cookies (hubba-hubba) and sipping my tea, I’ve managed to calm myself down a bit.
That anonymous email is juggled_geese@yahoo.com and will not be fake to you, dear readers, should you wish to email me.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-23 07:51 am (UTC)ok, that's creepy. and weird. (the man trying to pick you up, that is.) SERIOUSLY. i think you look university-age, but WAY TOO YOUNG for a 31 year old man. you need to learn more rudeness, dearie.
that said, i always wonder if it would be nice to chat with random people trying to pick one up. it's happened a handful of times with me, but after a few moments i generally give them a frosty smile and walk to somewhere more crowded or what-have-you. because i get freaked out.
yeah.
i'm glad you went to the football game! i used to like sunflower seeds but they take too long to crack open.
i wish you had more things to do, though, and weren't having such a rough time of it. *hugs*
-kathleen