I will trade my firstborn for an AC unit

                                                                    My Bae

This is the story of how Claire officially lost it to Madird's scalding heat wave. She will be survived by her roommate Sarah. She would have been survived by her fish but the heat took them, too. (RIP Bing and Bang). So, It's just Sarah #sorryimnot

It all started when Claire made the regretteble decision to not rob a bank to get the cash to fly home this summer and instead to kick it in the inferno that is Madrid. On June 26th (I shouldn't have to remind you all since only my family reads this, a DAY before the big 2-4), Claire and Sarah decided to rent a sketchy-as-shit van driven by Jose and Antonio (names changed to protect their awesomeness) in 99-degree heat to move from one pee-stained street in La Latina to their new pee-stained street in Malasaña. On this street was their new "home" or what they like to refer to as The Crock Pot because it's so hot they believe they are constantly being cooked.

By now you might be wondering, "What about air conditioning" Or, "Is Malasaña in a developing country? If I had known Claire moved to Africa, I would have sent her more packages." First, Spain doesn't believe in air conditioning. Second, we all know the latter isn't true. I mean, a card would be nice. (shout out to Abby for always sending the best - and only - packages). 

This has been the hottest summer recorded in Madrid since the devil himself decided to take a poo on this fine country (or since July 1995, but who's counting). And yours truly not only decided to stay because she thought she could save money, she also accidentaly signed herself up for slave labor. (To be fair, that was my only option since I'm currently an illegal immigrant... technically). That's right, babysitting two girls, three and five-years-old, in this heat for 7 euros an hour. (Full disclosure, I eat all of their food to make up for the +10 euros they keep forgetting to pay me. They have actually started hiding the chips). 

This babysitting job has been extremely rewarding in that it has made me become celibate. If children are a part of my future it will be because someone like me was babysitting them and they ran off and snuck into my Audi A8 (I can afford that car because future me doesn't have kids). 

Another reward is that through this job I have found religion. For example, you will very often hear: for the love of god, why would you put your finger there. And: Jesus Christ did you just swallow that marble? I don't know CPR.

So far we have already broken a door, the fridge, a hula hoop, a dress (maybe two, jury's still out), and the couch. I use "we" loosely. It was definitely the kids. But I must have really not been paying attention if they managed to break off part of the door. In my imaginary contract, 7 euros an hour means your children are in one piece when you get home. 10 euros an hour is we only break one thing a week. 15, we cool. (If anyone is looking for a babysitter, PM me I'll send you my deets and fake references ASAP). 

Enough about my dream job. I want to tell you what it's like to be so consistently dehydrated that alcohol isn't the main -and at one point, the only- part of your diet. Yes, folks, it's still Claire here. If AA isn't working out for you, I suggest moving to Spain next summer. I have a job lined up for you here, they'll be hiring within the next couple of days. 

There are positives to all of this. As a kid I always wanted a water bed. With the constant heat throughout the night it's not uncommon to wake up in a pool of your own sweat. Like a little slice of heaven, I've found myself a zero maintanence water bed. #DIY

We also get the community feeling of living in an interior apartment. The little window we have opens up directly into our neighbors little window. We like to watch tv with them on Sunday nights. I'm still trying to figure out how to say "can you turn it up, please" in Spanish but without letting them know that we're sharing this intimate moment with them. 

   Some quality camera work from the one and only

 

What is keeping me from lighting myself on fire by standing under a huge magnifying glass under the sun is that in 5 days I will be in Holland. Where they have normal temperatures and can back up the fact that they are actually a first-world country. 

And with any luck, I won't get deported when I try to sneak back into Spain. #illegal #freeflight #exitrowplease

Thanks for reading, mom and dad. Keep an eye out for the next annual post coming at you in 2016. 

11 Things

I've read a number of blog posts recently about how you know you're actually in your 20s and for the love of God, don't get married before you're 23 and everything you must do before you turn 30 and hate your life. I have to admit, I've enjoyed reading these blogs, however, if you meet none of the guidelines listed don't think that you've failed as a 20 something year old. If you want to get married before 23 don't let a blog tell you otherwise.  Also, I think 30 might be a great fucking year, so everyone lay off the post 20 something year-olds.

 I've decided to jump on the old band wagon with what I think anyone should/can do in order to be happy with where they are in life at this exact moment. No need to pack up your shit, divorce your wife and join a Scientology cult. Just some ideas on how to be happy … right now, without changing a thing.

1. It's okay to have no idea what you want to do with your life

At five, I thought I could talk to animals (this has yet to be disproved). At seven until 19 I wanted to be a dolphin trainer (until I realized that believing I could talk to animals did not, in fact, outweigh the importance of math and science in this field), at 20 I wanted to become a kick ass spy and at 22 I wanted to live in Spain and marry Cristiano Ronaldo. (I don't want to seem like a hero but I'm a continent closer to the big CR. So dream big, guys, dream big). 

At 22, I have moved to Spain and I'm pretty freaking excited about it. BUT I know that until I get that permanent Spanish residency card (ahem, boys of Spain, ahem) this is only a temporary move. And as much as I love teaching these little nuggets, I don't know if this is really what I want to do for the rest of my life. And that's okay.

2. Do what makes you happy

If the first thing you think when you read this is "wow, she really isn't beating around the bush in this blog. I'm out," you are correct. Thank you for reading this far, I'm sorry if it impeded on your current state of happiness.

If you're on the other spectrum and think to yourself, "well, that's bs because I may not be happy right now but I'm working hard to be happy later," then you're doing it wrong. I'm not saying you don't have to work hard and struggle at times to become a happier person but if you don't smile at least once a day when you're "working" or even just living your life then my guess is that what you're working towards will not bring ultimate happiness. 

3. Travel as often as you can and don't be intimidated by the journey. 

This doesn't mean you need to blow all your savings and book a flight to Libya so you can take some Instashits of the crazy adventure. Traveling could be as simple as discovering a new street in your neighborhood or as daring as moving to the jungle. If you have a family that "keeps you from traveling," don't be deterred. Pick up that old metal detector and trespass travel into someone's backyard and find a whole new world under the ground. Find a new coffee shop that also has a liquor license down the street and befriend the manager. Play the left-right game until you get lost in your city to find that you're only a couple miles from home. Don't stop discovering new things. 

4. Trust your gut. 

"Do one thing every day that scares you." - Eleanor Roosevelt

I love this idea. BUT I think that my generation might be taking it a tad too literally. I don't think ol' Elly meant play frogger in a highway or Russian roulette with your downstairs neighbors. There is a difference between doing what makes you uncomfortable in order to grow and doing what your subconscious knows isn't right for you. When you're walking down a dark alleyway and something tells you to turn around, trust that instinct before the crack head holding the knife tells you to turn around. Trust your subconscious enough to be comfortable making uncomfortable decisions. Yes, take risks, but risks that will ultimately help you grow as a person, not help your insurance premium sky rocket through the roof. This may be your key to longevity. 

5. Eat what you want and enjoy it.  

Eating is about the most pleasurable bodily function you can engage in while in public (that doesn’t come with the risk of getting arrested). Don't take that for granted and savor every second of that greasy, blue-cheese covered, medium-rare steak and the never ending chocolate milkshake (never ending because you can't stop buying more). This isn’t a license to overdo it. (You don’t want your friends calling you Sloth-face or Glutton-Button.) It just means don't be hard on yourself for enjoying the good things Mother Earth gave us like a Five Guys double cheeseburger or a juicy kabob from down the street. 

6. Learn a new language

Here comes the inevitable "Really? This again? I tried that in middle school, no luck-o, Bucko." But language doesn't necessarily have to be Spanish or Chinese. There is a language in dance, in people's facial features, in watching movies and just plain people watching. Take in what is around you and learn how to respond in a similar fashion. One of the most beautiful traits we have as a species is our ability to communicate in a number of ways without knowing a lick of the language the other person speaks. You'd be surprised at how easily one can convey "someone get me chocolate this instant or I'll pop a cap" universally with their eyes.

7. Get your heart broken

And don't blame yourself when it happens. Learn from it and don't be afraid to do it again. (But try not to make the same mistake twice—there so many mistakes out there just waiting to be made)

8. Most decisions that end in "yolo" might not be the best and you'll probably learn that the hard way. 

Many choices I made in my senior year in college ended with the unsure yet completely solid "...yolo, am I right?" This was always made after a decision where I knew if my parents found out they'd be sitting there with a dafuck? look on their face. 

eg. Great Influential Friend: "Hey, Claire, I know it's 2 am on a Tuesday and you have that big final in your Senior Thesis class tomorrow that you haven't prepared for or studied for but want to go drunk bowling?"

me: "Well, that would be irresponsible. But.... yolo, am I right??"

GIF: "Claire, tequila is the right choice. Always."

me: "Well, my past decisions made while under the influence of tequila say otherwise but.. yolo, am I right??"

GIF: "Claire, I know we have big exams tomorrow and we HAVE to study but it happens to be Saint Patrick's Day today. We must drink in the library."

me: "You are brilliant."

The YOLO came after I spilled a beer in the computer room and made it out alive and unnoticed. 

9. Be okay with being alone. 

After graduating from college or at some point in your life, you may find yourself alone for much longer periods of time than what you are used to. For me, this realization came after college when I didn't find myself asleep with my best friend literally every night or when we weren't finishing the bottle of wine on the balcony of 865 every night once a week. So naturally, the transition from being surrounded by my best friends 24/7 to them being a whole ocean and many time zones away was hard for me. But being alone for an extended amount of time helped me realize that they would be there for me whether I was snuggling up with them in bed or miles away in another continent. The only way you know is if you choose to be alone. 

10. Know that you know very little

And be thankful for the opportunity to learn something new. Nothing is worse than asking, with confidence, how long your hostel mate's flight from North Korea was. With luck, they will speak absolutely no English and will not notice you turn bright red once you realized the mistake you make and how stupid you sounded. 

11. Question everything. 

If you found yourself nodding along to this post, question why you agreed with a 22 year old who has yet to check her college final grades or receive her diploma.

"Teacher, can I go take a piss?"

Well, sure, because you asked so nicely.

In the beginning of elementary school I was totally weird and had no friends. The only thing that has changed since then is now I have some friends. My lack of friends and weirdness was due primarily to the fact that I dragged my blankey with me everywhere I went. Also, I was pretty sure that I was a cat and I spoke zero Spanish. I was the minority chica blanca in a class full of kids who just moved to the US from many other countries. The language spoken most in class between the students was Spanish. At the time, I had no intention of joining MS-13 for Tots. Thinking back, I regret that decision.

I couldn't have been happier when I found out that I was placed as a teaching assistant in the first and second grade classes of a public school in the center of Madrid. This is mainly because I remember how freaking scary school was at that age. I would have been so relieved to see someone who made it out alive and wasn't a thousand years old and/or incredibly bitter about life.

Back in the day (and even now in Spain) the teachers made you write your name over and over again in cursive until you got it right. They wouldn’t let you go to recess until you did it correctly even after trying to explain to them that you are physically incapable of writing the r properly and you should probably be given special treatment because of your condition.

When you went to the nurse for a headache, broken arm, sore throat or death, the class knew that you would always come back with ice.

The kids could be really scary, too. They were even scarier when you couldn't understand a word they were saying. And for some reason they just really didn't like the only cracker in the class (yours truly). It also didn’t help that these kids were apparently the “shock troops” of the childhood obesity epidemic, and I was just a 45-pound girl with a really bony butt (my amigos loved to point that out).

So you can see how I would have died of happiness to be in a class with an assistant teacher who was as weird as me at my age and could somehow relate when I told her that to be a cat the most important thing to do was lick the water out of the sidewalk cracks after a good rainstorm. Because that’s what cats do. And what patient mothers put up with (thanks, mom).

Here’s what I’ve learned from being a teacher’s assistant so far

First and second grade is still scary, even at 22 years of age.

I'm smiling out of fear

There is a girl in my first grade class named Susanna who just moved here with her family from Brooklyn, NY. Susanna is a shy, skinny girl with dark hair and Bambi-like eyes. She reminds me so much of me when I was her age except she’s way cooler as a first grader. Basically the only similarities between us at age six were our shyness and lack of Spanish knowledge. Adrian, an adorable boy with spiky, gelled up hair took an immediate liking to Suzanna and I’m pretty sure he’s in love (poor kid). The thing is, every time I see Adrian take Suzanna in a huge bear hug or play with her hair or give her love notes I get this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t figure out why I had this feeling until out of nowhere it hit me. I was convinced that Suzanna’s dad would discover Adrian’s admiration towards his daughter and find him and kill him. I know this may sound extreme but you’ve probably never had my dad as your father.

Don’t get me wrong, my dad is the sweetest, kindest guy you’ll meet. Right now. At this moment. When I was six to 18 he was a little overprotective. I was convinced that he would do anything to make sure Karlyn and I were safe, even if it meant murdering the boy who stared at us too long or stole our pokemon cards. At 22, I’ve finally come to accept that he might not kill the first boy that holds our hands or breaks our hearts. Maybe. Jury’s still out.

Six year olds throw up with the same dignity as freshman in college

As in, with no dignity at all. But they do bounce back a lot faster. I saw a kid throw up for three minutes straight (swear to god) and then go back to playing with the blocks like nothing had happened. Like I said, freshman year of college summed up through the actions of six year olds. 

They are also incredibly open about their bodily functions. I hear about fifteen times a day "teacher, can I go take a piss?" Apparently this is completely normal. It's also normal to go into detail by saying "well, you see, it's just that I haven't gone poo today so you know... I have to go." What shouldn't be normal under any circumstance is taking a poop in the middle of a park during a field trip. This also happened. This was also completely acceptable to everyone who witnessed it. 

“You are so big” is the new “you are so tall.”

I hope when I become a baguette I'll have this much fun. 

A girl can dream.

At 6'2 (likeee 1.8ish9ish meters) I'm pretty tall regardless of what country I'm in and people love to let me know that they know I'm tall (I then point out that they're not blind and from there we'll go back and forth sharing obvious aesthetic facts about one another). This is something I’ve learned to deal with because people will soon be able to say “you are so big” and mean it regarding both height and weight. (Spanish food is dangerously awesome and it's never a full meal without a whole stick of bread). This is perfect because when I inevitably turn into a baguette I won’t know that the kids are being sincere when they say that I’m big. Suckers.

The kids will cough and sneeze and then immediately find you for a hug. 

I'm talkin' to you, kid

This hug will consist of their hands on your face, in your eyes and mouth and sometimes up your nose. That is their hug.

Physical contact will not get you fired on the spot.

The first time a student hugged me I cringed and then looked around for witnesses. When I received weird looks for not returning the hug with just as much enthusiasm as the peanut with the death grip on my love handles, I instantly realized that the Spanish education system will be a game changer for me. 

“Fake it ‘till you make it” really works wonders in Spain

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing 90% of the time in these classes. In fact, I get more distracted than most of the kids in the class. (There is clay everywhere. How can you not touch it?) However, every second that I am absolutely baffled by what is going on around me, I end up learning a ton about teaching. Teaching is hard. It might be just a tiny but easier than waitressing but to be fair I was a pretty bad waitress. 

The first thing we were told was "during the first few weeks don't smile too much at the kids, they will use that as an opportunity to take advantage of you." My problem is that when I don't understand what's going on around me, whether it is during a conversation or why some kid just ate a pencil, I start smiling. Like a huge, stupid smile. My eyes basically scream "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about but I really hope you like my teeth." 

So the first week I was just beaming at the kids. And the next week they started putting me in timeout. Seriously. And sometimes I was just like "okay, yeah, I'll go to the corner because you seem to convey more authority than me." The week after that I realized that I actually had to pretend how to be a teacher even though I really had no idea what "being a teacher "consisted of. What it meant was not laughing at them when they farted out loud and learning how to hold a mean face for more than thirty seconds so that they actually believe you're angry even though you really don't give a shit that they're playing with Pokeman cards (and that you really want to join them). 

Gypsy’s are real

And I have a class full of ‘em

 (Side note: in Spain, “gypsy” is not considered a racist term, it’s actually what they’re called and what they call themselves—with pride, might I add). When they actually show up to class they can be the most adorable kids. They can also be straight up hellions because their parents don’t believe in the educational system. They’re basically forced to go to school every now and then because the police will get reports on a number of absences at one time and check in on the family. The parents will then send them to school for a couple days and take them back out immediately. This is actually really upsetting because you can tell that these kids have so much potential but barely speak Spanish, let alone English, and have just learned to write their names.

The teacher made the mistake of pulling me aside and pointing out all the gypsies in our class. I’ve made it my personal goal to teach them the alphabet and how to write before the year is up. This isn’t a joke yet, but I’m sure I’ll end up in prison for this at some point which will no doubt end up as a hilarious story for everyone but me. I promise to write from my cell. 

        Proof that I survived first grade

Would you be my neighbor?

Our new apartment is interior, meaning we aren't bothered by the sounds on the busy streets outside but we do get a very intimate sneak peak inside the lives of our neighbors. 

 Oh my, what a great view of Spain you must have. 

Jk, this is your view:

The neighborhood we live in is called Lavapiés. It's known for its great food, the high population of foreigners, and the  very open drug use. 

This sign is posted on an apartment down the street from our place and says "buy your drugs outside of this neighborhood, Lavapiés is our home"

This is a grow shop where you can buy pieces about a block away from the hand made sign above. 

As you can see, there are conflicting views in Lavapiés. 

Jordan and I joked that we would learn to survive in this neighborhood by being euntrepreneurs and becoming drug lords, but we've recently learned that to survive and thrive we should probably learn Russian. 

My favorite neighbors at the moment are the Russian mafia that lives across from us and one floor down. Because our apartment doesn't have air conditioning everyone has their windows open at all times. The Russians seem to believe that no one else lives in this building or maybe they just don't care. It seems the only way to get your point across in Russian is by screaming it. (There's a warm spot in my heart for these guys since they're so similar to my own family in this way). 

I picture them sitting around a wooden table, playing cards in hand and a jug of cheap vodka being passed around. Snowden is sitting with them, enjoying his freedom but also wondering if life in prison and political resentment in the US might be safer than the life he's living now. It is always winter in their apartment and they are never without their fur hats, lit cigars and AK-47's. With that being said, we have yet to ask them to speak softer. 

The neighbors on our other side are a wonderful Bengali family. A wife, husband and two young girls. If we're lucky, at early hours in the morning the girls will turn into screaming coyotes and run up and down the hall. After we're certain they aren't being abducted, Jordan and I make up our own screen play reflecting the drama we hear outside the door. Sometimes we even play dramatic music on top of the action. 

I like to imagine we've been cast as one of the robots in Mystery Science Theatre 3000. 

The other day Jordan and I met the father of the two girls in the elevator. Because it takes about 16 min for the elevator to get to the 4th floor, we learned a lot about each other. He said our Spanish is good for being American which means the fact that we're American and care to know another language at all means we're pretty much fluent. He then told us he was from Bangladesh and we responded with "oh wow what a beautiful country" he laughed and said "yeah but the people are horribly unattractive." I made a mental note to seek out therapy sessions for the girls who will thank me later in life.  

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This morning I though that someone had donated a tv to us and was blasting a very dramatic telenovela but I quickly learned that there was a fight going on between the only Spanish family in the building who live directly across from us (you'd think that there being only one Spanish family in an apartment in Madrid would be strange but nope, not in Lavapiés). This is fun because not only do we hear everything they're saying but we can also watch everything they do. 

I can't be certain that a murder didn't take place at 0800 hours this morning but to go with the flow of the Spanish culture I'll just say it's none of my business. 

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So kids, when you are without wifi, fear not, because you might have been living over the Russian mafia for years without even knowing it. And that's when the adventure can begin. 

"do you think our Spanish cell phones have snake...?

...I hope they do." --Jordan Gurganus.

I feel like Jordan will cite the future names of many of my posts without even knowing it. I mean this sincerely because so does she. Earlier today we were watching Miley Cyrus' new video, and she said "the concept almost works and then she starts licking hammers." The best part is, when I started laughing she looked kind of upset because I wasn't taking her seriously.

She wasn't sure if this was a coffee table or a drum, so we tried both. It's not a drum. (sorry, Marcelo/Mario)

Jordan and I worked very hard to move into our beautiful new apartment. I'm not saying having funerals for the dead baby cockroaches found throughout the house wasn't entertaining, and buying our own cups because "we're too afraid of the kitchen (--Jordan)" isn't the tits, but it was time to move on. Sorry, Mr. Bean, you will be in our hearts and most likely the reason we won't live past 30.

The other day before Jordan arrived to Madrid I went on my own little adventure. Meaning I got lost for days. Many people say that you learn from your mistakes. I place all of these people in a group and try my best to avoid them. However, after one day on my own in Madrid I happily enlisted myself into said group. Here is what I learned: 

The Alimentacion is basically a store for fat kids.

With that being said, I go daily.

 If you truly understand me, you know my one and only love is chocolate. One day, Isabelle (the German girl who I met in this lovely apartment) and I went to every Alimentacion on the way to our friend Annika's house looking for one chocolate bar in particular (for me, obviously). The 15 minute walk took us about an hour and a half and by the end I had to settle for a Kit Kat bar. To express how easy going my time in Spain has been, this experience was traumatic. 

If you are a girl you will be referred to as "guapa." No matter what. 

I learned this the hard way. 

Guapa means lovely or pretty, basically used for aesthetic reasons. So whenever I was walking down the streets people would say "ayyy guapa, asodhf asidhfd pasodf (I usually have no idea what they're saying, my Spanish is pretty narcissistic). Then I'll go and order a cafe con leche and the waiter will say "vale guapa, un momento." Ok, cool, back atchya. So this was the new norm for the rest of the week and obviously something was seriously wrong if the conversation didn't finish with someone saying I was lovely.  

Until that one day when the woman with three arms and tenticles sticking out of her head was also called "guapa." And then the man with one tooth carrying a teddy bear that obviously wasn't his was also called "guapo." It's not that Spain broke my heart or anything it's just that I thought we had something special.

Do not smile or stare at cute babies because you will be classified as a child molester. 

The babies here are ahhhdorable. That's probably why everyone 13 and up has one. It's like a freaking rite of passage over here. You don't even know what peer pressure is until you walk through the Parque Retiro and see teenagers literally having sex on benches. It's like when the couple saw me they felt awkward because of my singleness, not because I was blatantly staring at them in awe/disgust/probably still a little drunk (hey, it was after 10 am)

If you make eye contact with anyone of the opposite gender, it means you want to have sex with them. 

And if you smile at them, it means you probably already have. 

In Spain, you don't have to go to the nearest pub for those around you to understand why you're drinking so early. 

the world is your pub and they all understand. 

People work to live, not live to work. 

Or they just don't work at all. 

PS- sorry if this blog didn't make any sense. As much as my Spanish has improved these past two weeks my English has gotten so much worse. God help the little nuggets that I'm supposed to teach. 

How to star in Taken 3

Not to say these past couple days in Spain with my uncle weren't exciting, but holy crap when you're on your own in a foreign country you realize how lost you can really get, So far the advice I can give is,

1. If you're lost in Spain but it looks nothing like Anacostia, don't freak out, you're fine.

Long story short, my uncle flew in with me to Spain because he got a great deal with the airlines and "he's never  been before, so why not?" Fair enough, I'll allow it. So these past couple of days we explored Spain together. It's amazing how people who are originally from Wisconsin believe that everyone speaks English. And if they're unsure if that person speaks English, they'll yell at them in English. Because I think that's how we were all taught the language. So these past two days my uncle and I had a great time exploring Spain and yelling at people in English. I seriously couldn't be happier that he was with me those first two days because Spain is big, but so is he (dem swedes, you know?)

Today I took a bus from the hotel we were staying at to the centre of Madrid. When the bus driver saw all of my luggage and noticed that I was the only one carrying it across four different metro stops and many small streets he gave me a pathetic look and said "buena suerte." Thank you sir, those two words were all I needed to gain enough stamina to take those 80 lb bags to my new home for a week. They weren't, but if you are a girl in Spain and you look decent (as in not near death or homeless) people are more than happy to help you. So, this Spanish dude with a 6 year old girl carried my kajillion pound bag down about three flights of stairs (because why would they make escalators in Spain?) and once again gave me the pathetic look followed by "buena suerte." Well, fuck you too. And thanks for your help. And your daughter is adorable.

I finally make it to la Calle Argumasa numero siete where I proceed to ring the doorbell.  Not only does no one answer but some old lady walks up to me with a bad case of resting bitch face and asks me what the shit I think I'm doing, all in Spanish. I think the only reason I understood was because people ask me that a lot here. I told her I was looking for Marcelo, who was nice enough to rent out a room in his apartment for a week, and she said no Marcelo lived there. This is where my second point of advice comes in:

2. If it looks like the location where you made a reservation to live that week is nonexistent, go to the nearest bar with wifi so you can cry to your parents and get a drink.

At this point my arms fell off about 3 blocks ago from carrying my bags and all I wanted was a drink. So I immediately walked away from the lady with a case of the resting bitch face and to the nearest bar with wifi where I was greeted by the bartender, Alejandro. My assumption of Spain was confirmed at this bar. Punk is not dead. If it happened to die at one time, it is now resurrected in Madrid. That being said, Alejandro and I got along famously.

I asked Alejandro if there was a Marcelo that lived around here and he said no. Which means no because everyone knows everyone in this part of Madrid. I'm sipping (gulping) down my much needed glass of wine and all of the sudden this dude walks in and says "eres la francesa? Which means, are you the french girl? No.. no sir I'm not French but thank you for asking? But he's insistent I come with him so I say sure, why not, I'd love to star in Taken 3. Also, his name is Mario not Marcelo.

We make our way down the street where I'm planning out exactly where we'll start filming the comedy that will become the most amazing prequel to a somewhat exciting movie. I quickly learn that this might become reality when we walk past apartment 7 (where according to the reservation, is where I'm staying) to apartment 5. I found after going back to the bar where I left my unfinished wine that people do this for security reasons so that they themselves are not taken. I don't mean to be brash but Mario-Marcelo looks like Mr. Bean's twin who would probably not feature in a film about kidnappings. We make our way up into the apartment and he shows me around the place.

This is my wonderful room for the week

This is the living room where Mario/Marcelo and I shared a melon (whatta guy)

The kitchen/ laundry room/ living room/ bull fighting arena/ place to feel even more like a giant because the appliances are tiny

And finally, the teeny tiny bathroom. 

If this is the last you hear from me, contact Mr. Bean. I'm pretty sure they're directly related or at least best friends so he probably has access to Mario/Marcelo's diary.

Peace&Blessingz y'all <3