After 4 hours of Spanish class today I was in the zone. For serious. I mean, even my accent was on. The way I was rolling my r's and hittin my double l's I could have had your girlfriend more touched than when Rachel came back for Ross. So when I got to my favorite mexican joint to get a bite before work, I was, needless to say, feeling a bit cocky. The portena that was fixing my burrito initiated a little game of eye tag with me and it was on. Normally I would be satisfied with simply playing this game of mixed signals. But on this particular day I decided that my Spanish was finally good enough to take our relationship to the next level. I started with a lot of smiling and pleasantries (nailed it) moved on to some small talk about how I work nearby, possibly exaggerating what it is I do there (a little over my head) and finished with an exposé on how not to make jokes in español (I just made a very big little-mistake). As I stumbled to an embarrassing conclusion of mixed tenses and verb confusion, she looked at me as I often get looked at here. I walked away dejected. All I wanted to do was dispassionately look out a bus window and listen to the "Goo Goo Dolls." I thought about it after, and realized that when I try to talk to portenos it is probably about as interesting as when people who can't speak English in the States try to chat with me about the weather. So it goes.
At work, my boss gave me a project with a little more creative license than usual. I'm heading a newsletter about our study abroad programs for college advisers back in the States. I'll be deciding on the content and doing the interviews and all of the writing, so if I had a profile, or knew what people who have profiles do with them, this project could hypothetically be in there. I got excited for a second because there's another intern and they chose me to do it, but that burned off pretty immediately; probably similar to the feeling a first-grader gets when they're given the responsibility of writing down milk orders for the day. By the way, I don't get paid at my internship, in case you didn't know that about me.
After work my man Josh hit me up and was like "bro, you want to toss the bee," and I was just like "pshh" and he knew that meant YES! So I went to lace up my sneaks: left one, check: got my right shoe half way on and thought, hmm that's strange, must have left my sock in the shoe. Reached in to get it, and although I immediately felt that whatever it was was grosser than one of my dirty socks, when a bat fell out of my shoe I was not prepared.
So ya, there was a bat living in my shoe for anywhere up to a week, I mean throw me a friggin bone here. I've just about had it with the hostel anyway, and when my friend Mike gets back down to BA in a week I want to get serious about finding a place. I eventually made it to the park, rabies in my right foot and all, and realized that I have no redeeming qualities as a Frisbee player; I do, however, have an ace in the hole - I look really, ridiculously good looking in black, and that's the team color.
Every Monday there's an outdoor drum show in a neighborhood just south of me. , 15 pesos to get in, and a cool scene. Andy and I had been a couple times, this video is from last Monday.
3 years ago