It´s about Fucking Time Now isn´t it.

[Listening to: The Avett Brothers - Mignonette]

I agree... though in my opinion, It´s always time for the internet. Spain, unfortunately doesn´t feel the same way (at least not towards me). The Spanish feel they have to stand out in the world of electricity. They, unfortunately for me have power outlets different from the rest of Europe, in which I was fully prepared to handle. My laptop is dead, and looks like it might stay that way.


Though my time here is still it´s infancy my brain has been shit out my mouth, my face has been melted onto my keyboard and my eye-pussies have been fucked into oblivion. All of that out of the way... So I guess it´s story time in the kitchen as it were.

For those of you that have been to Europe and experienced these things before me... I apologize. This is my first trip out of the US and and most things are foreign to me (bad pun intended).

I rolled up on this Piece a week ago today and since then I haven´t had any substantial time to sit down and say anything worth while. Though It is the opinion of some that I have nothing worthwhile to say at any time of the day. At any rate though I think once a week is about the best those of you who are going to read this are going to get. For the most part though I feel like I´m only talking to one person who has my RSS (you know who you are, my little Honey bunch. It´s about time for another Hops Slam if you ask me) Granted, I guess. but here goes nothing
:

Upon leaving Orlando International, and getting on my British Airways Flight I discovered that the Brits love socks. Either that or they know they are eternal fuck-ups. I discovered this small fact when I went rooting through the pouch located in front of my airline seat (like I always do when fly. Or do anything else for that matter, I´m a curious individual I can´t help it) and to my surprise I found a blanket, eye covers, a pair of shitty head phones, a British TV guide some had left behind called Hello Telly someone had left, and a nice warm pair of complimentary socks. I should have fucking known that that was going to be foreshadowing for the trouble to come...

Excuse the interruption, but it´s time for a short aside about my life and personality:

Apparently, I have given an open invitation for all trouble and folly to ravage and rape my person and my effects. I am no stranger to trouble, and in fact, it seems my personality invites it at every turn.
Any time I spend a substantial time away from home I hemorrhage money. It flies from me like I was it´s mortal enemy. I believe that we, money and I, are opposite (magnetically speaking). I spent some time in Washington D.C. Last summer interning for a U.S. Congressman from Tennessee (for his reputation, I won´t say which though he doesn´t need my help in tarnishing his name) and the whole time was issue after issue but not any that his Legislative Assistants could bullshit their way through.

• I drove there to D.C. (bad Idea) and on the first day busted a hole in my back passenger side tire, and after switching it for the doughnut hit a pot hole and warped that rim. to fix that I had to spend three hours in a 24-hour tire repair place in south-east DC (the Ghetto) at 3 am. It was obvious that most of the tires were stolen. I felt like a basketball coach.
  

• I was robbed of my glasses on the subway, while drunk on the metro. Those fucking heathens tried to get me off the train, the glasses were only a lure. I refused though, screaming drunken slurs from the doorway of the train at the train stop while I watched them smash my glasses on the ground.

• After throwing my money at thieves (20$ for a Rouge beer at a Bar) and con-men, I had to get a second job waiting tables, at a restaurant that I had no idea you had to have a permit to park in front of... I don´t want to talk about that one.

At home in Florida there are plenty of examples: the way I earned the name ´´Droppapotamus´´ at Gina´s Lakeside Grill (see shitty restaurant Job), Got demoted from Langasto Rojo for a similar reason, Why I was hissed at by a retarded woman hissed at me at Sonny´s Bar-b-que... all that may be my fault though. As I´ve been told by more than one restaurant manager... serving may not be the industry for me. And Gladly, I agree. But also there are apartment fires (yes plural, but only one so scarring that I was left with little to my name).

This is starting to sound like a pity party... but quite the opposite... I do like to invite trouble, folly, hardship, suffering, ect., ect. into my life. The more one suffers through the more there is to be thankful for, and all the more, life lived. After all...Suffering is the Route to enlightenment.......................................................
I´ll live my life or die trying.

Back to the situation at hand:

...Those fucking Brits. After taking us through the most nauseating path possible across the Atlantic (in which I put to good use the eye covers), we arrived two hours late in London Gatwick Airport. From then I had 25 minutes to make my connecting flight to Barcelona. From the plane the only things I was able to steal were the blanket and the safety guide, I assumed the socks were mine to keep. Along with all the bottles of complimentary Johnny Walker Red Label (of which I lost at the gate to the connecting flight when the contents of my bag spilled after being jostled from the marathon I had to run to make the flight.) Though I was gasping for blessed life-breath when I got there, I made the flight.

In Barcelona: The Brits had lost my baggage... but at least I had their socks. Good thing too, because It´s very cold here...comparatively anyway... and I rarely wear any. For four days I was left with nothing but a trusty pair of jeans, which basically never have to be washed, a t-shirt, a sweater and the contents of my Backpack. And Thank the good lord I am a thrifty packer... In my backpack I had my laptop, a chess board, several guides to Barcelona, Ipod, cell phone, electronic dictionary, several brain-teaser puzzles Maps of not only Barcelona but Spain, Portugal, Amsterdam, London, and Madrid. and my trusty Magic Money Card and four airplane size bottles of Johnny Walker as well as two of some crappy English Shiraz. Thank the lord for that as well. Of all of my shortcomings, thankfulness is not one.

The rest is all sight-seeing in Barcelona: there are pictures on Facebook, Flicker is being a bitch and will only allow me 100 Mb of upload space a month, and seeing as how I refuse to take anything under 5megapixle shots that´s not so much. so look there if curiosity strikes. There are pictures of most of Antonió Gaudí´s buildings who is renowned for almost single handedly designing Barcelona. Wikipedia folks. Also The Graffitti here is astounding. You can really here the artistic heartbeat of this city, just by walking it´s streets. Pictures of that to come.

oh. Also, I was forcibly removed from a hostel after violating their stupid ¨rules¨. Which apparently if you don´t ¨follow¨ you´re not ¨welcome¨. All I did was use the computer after 23:00 to prevent people from doing such things they had a remote control device on the power outlet for the monitor. Such things are easily surmountable and of no use to me. Though the Guard..err... front desk man had a few things to say about it, in which I had a few replies. After that evening they refused me quarter. All was well though, Because I had found a flat that day.

The Flat though is another story entirely, for another day. It´s inhabited by crazies.

Courage,

Parker