The Good (or maybe Sad)
For all of last week, whenever I was not working out on the beach (this is something I actually do) or lounging around the house (which in a ratio of getting fit, occurs 9000:1 times as much), I wore the same blueish-grey J. Crew pocket tee. This is one of the perks of having no friends or anyone you see on a regular basis.
On Friday I realized the only stain I'd acquired was a coffee and/or chocolate icecream blotch that was neatly hidden on the inside lip of the shirt's chest pocket. Although it was an accident, I felt personally responsible for this ideally located stain and I declared it my proudest achievement of the week.
I posted language-exchange flyers around the University of Barcelona's language school hoping I could meet someone who could help me better my Spanish, potentially become my friend, and give me a reason to not wear the same shirt for six days straight. I only received one response from a person named Pilar.
At 11am on Saturday morning, I stood outside the Santa Maria del Mar excited to meet, what I assumed/hoped would be a cool 20-something guy who would instantly become my Barcelona BFF. Then our blind-language-exchange date became blind no more when a woman walked up to me and said, "Justin?"
The grey-haired woman who wore weird checkered pants and a silly jacket that in the States would only be worn by a 60-year-old Jewish woman, said, "Hi, I'm Pilar."
I one fell swoop I was crushed and thought to myself, "I'm a fucking idiot." Pilar is a girl's name through and through. It's not even a Jaime, Alex, or Kelly. It's more like a Jessica. And a Jessica is never a dude.
I've taken a few photos from my balcony looking down on the restaurant below. As always, the idea in my head looks a lot cooler than the end result, but here they are: