Mom and Dad, I apologize in advance for the first paragraph of this post...But I think it's a decent piece altogether.

Okay, so I’m stoned. I mean, like, pretty fucking stoned. It’s 2am and I just came home and made a bowl (haha) of chocolate mini wheats (seriously though, over/under 3 legitimate friends for the guy in the link I just posted), corn flakes, banana slices and these awesome little tiny chocolate peanut butter cups Jo Ellen keeps in the fridge. But that’s not the point.

The point is, on the way home I just so happened to get into a cab driven by this guy named Sisqo (for those of you that clicked that link, what the shit was that dude thinking with the silver hair?? I mean, really?). Like, the rapper. I mean, I’m sure it’s not spelled like that – actually it’s short for Francisco – but that’s how I imagine it. SO ANYWAY, this cab was driving away from la resedencia de mis amigos and I flagged him down. We traded words in Spanish while I gave him my address, and he broke into some decent English. He said his English wasn’t the best, and after I described my Spanish in a similar fashion he suggested that he speak inglés while I use español. We had ourselves a regular intercambio (remember when I taught you guys that word?). How fucking cool was this, you ask? Well, my friends, it was pretty damn cool.

We carried on in our respective second languages or the entirety of a 5,80€ cab ride (about 10 minutes, 15 in weed time), and honestly were both speaking muy bien. The content generally focused on pleasantries, where I was from, and the finer points of learning a foreign language. I guess the dude had never taken a class – he just picked it all up from TV and movies. If that doesn’t impress you, I’ll just go ahead and assume you’ve either experienced some serious shit in your life or you’re just a jackass. Or both.

So, he’s only been a cab driver for two months but good ole Cisco figures it would help him out to speak English to his international clients (I taught him that word – “muy cerca de clientes,” I said).  No one in his family had ever spoken English, and while I don’t remember how long he’d been teaching himself, he was a lot better than he gave himself credit for. Apparently I was too. I say this because: One, he commended my Spanish skills, and two, I heard myself spitting off sentences out of nowhere. They made sense, too. Towards the end, the conversation even shifted gears as I touched on Franco’s influence on the artistic value of 20^th century Barcelonan architecture. God I wasbaked.

We said our goodbyes, then that was that. While it isn’t particularly a testament to the profundity of this beautiful moment in human interaction, all I could do as I walked into my apartment was giggle and whisper  “what the fuck.” This is where you find me now, sitting on the couch in the knock off Barça jersey I bought from some Pakistani guy en Las Ramblas, watching a rerun of a Barcelona match on TV and generally just loving life. It’s the little things that make it all worth it, right?

You bet your fucking ass it is.

EPILOGUE:

The only shitty thing about today is that I finally joined the “spider webbed iPhone” club. I couldn’t find a gym I was looking for, so I just decided to take a run home next to the beach. Halfway back, the bottom of the goddamn drawstring backpack I had my phone/wallet/keys in split open and the previously suspected indestructible iPhone took a serious hit. Shit still works, so whatever. But it still sucks…you know?

Thank Steve Jobs (or whatever deity you worship) for AppleCare and warranties. Going to take a trip to the Apple store in the near future.

Zero fucks ended up being given in the aftermath of the Great iPhone Fiasco of 2012, however, as tonight ended up being just quality in general. I met a few people at Satora (can anyone find a link to some info? I searched briefly but got nothing), this sports bar down on Carrer de Pompalona, to watch Barça play Osasuna in a La Liga match. They won, we had beers, we left. I was even able to tell some local guy the outcome when he asked. Although, I totally struck out on approaching a group of chicas bonitas on the way out. But, no me importa. There will be plenty of opportunities to work on my Spanish game. I tried to tell myself and everyone else that we should hit up Razzmatazz, the huge venue and club not too far from where I live in Poblenou, but it was decided that smoking a joint was a better idea. Like...yeah, man. Yeah.

We met another kid, who lived in the same international dorms as the ISA kids I was with, and we all walked to a little park up the street para fumar aforementioned mota. After a decent round of conversation and bullshitting we all parted ways, and that’s where I met up with mi amigo Cisco. Real cool shit going on here. That short-lived taxi ride was honestly was the coolest thing I’ve done since getting here, and I’ve been everywhere from clubs to castles over the past week. Really, though -- for serious. I left the situation with a full understanding of the gravity of it all, and couldn't have been happier.

So, I mean, that’s it. That’s the story for today. If you wanted more, you'll just have to wait for the next post, but I hope you're okay with what I've just written typed.

I see you Barcelona, and I think we’re going to get along just fine.