The Great Whites of Barca
So I guess my bitches and I are better travel agents than we thought. In the beginning of the abroad, we mapped out our weekend trips, haphazardly choosing when to go to Amsterdam, Prague, Florence, etc, etc. We wanted to pick the sceney weekends, but lezbihonest we aren’t the most sceney people in all of Barce. Case and point: we “Barce” instead of “Barca.” You know us…those girls who are in VIP but like, kind of chill with the short boys in the far back corner while trying to steal shots from the hands of the ano bitches who are replacing their dinner with said vodka. I kid. We’re cool. I mean we did come to Barce, whoops Barca. But sometimes I find that rather than big fish in a small pond, we are now just small fish in a big ocean- kind of like all these new “abroad” bloggers drowning in my sea of blog awesomeness. I’ll always be the great white of these waters. (Except for Hot Karl’s…food on food on food.)
Well turns out my group of friends are the great whites of Barca (well maybe more like the school of fish that tailgates them, but never gets eaten by them), because we chose all the sceniest travel weekends of abroad, by coincidence of course. For those of you not abroad, or just not cool abroad, let me tell you it was two weekends ago Amsterdam, this past weekend Barcelona, and next weekend Prague. (Praha? What’s cool these days? See…school of fish.) In all honesty, we really randomly picked these weekends with not rhyme or reason to any of it. Just so happened that every JAP in Europe and her group of guy friends from school were staying in the Amsterdam Marriot, trying to get into Opium last Thursday night in Barce, and plans to…what the fuck is there to do in Prage?… like take pics in front of that graffiti wall in Prague. How did this happen? The world may never know.
As the cosmic abroad gods aligned in Barcelona this past weekend, I found myself overwhelmed by the amount screeching voices ordering “vawdka selztas,” before I realized that the loudest one was coming from me. In reality, it made me see how not sceney Barcelona is, contrary to popular belief, and had me thanking my lucky stars for this place to be “chill” again. (You know you have a problem when you consider Loco Lunes “chill.”) However, the run-ins were not exclusive to the night. In fact, the daytime ones were infinitely worse because you needed to do the stop and chat…EVERY TIME. Like dude/bitch, I haven’t seen you since our teen tour four and a half years ago. I’m not tryina catch up with you on Las Ramblas because you’re indeed still just some bitch and/or smuman Jewish boy.
Seeing as I am an anxiety ridden, foreign lovin’ freak, I spend my nights off from going out browsing guide books left here from previous CEA tenants whose moms were thoughtful enough to send them with a Frommer’s and perusing through guides of jappy travelers past, most of whom have no idea I have their guide in my possession. This, in addition to my tagging along on Asian tours at Sagrada Familia (led by guides who I understand perfectly), has made me an expert on all things Barcelona. I have a lifetime of knowledge…so much so, that my friends so cleverly helped me to create my second entrepreneurial endeavor (the first being this blog…yet to see a penny), Bus2Flal. My tour guide company will rival that of a similar name except it will have something extra- a secret underground night life tour that only the coolest great white sharks on my trips will know about. You only know where and when to be if you’re in the loop. And if you’re the coolest of the cool you get to take a shot with Flal (that’s me!) It’s that kind of thing where people ask, “Was Flal on your Bus2Flal trip? No? Oh that’s awkward…you must have been with a bunch of hillbillies from Seville. Because you know Flal don’t miss a group of Barca kids.
In all honesty, having all the intruders here this weekend was downright annoying. Yes, it was great to see all my friends from Prague and Florence. Yes, I loved getting pats on the back for doing things right, even if it was just for saying false statements about Barcelona so confidently that all the above mentioned friends thought I knew what the fuck I was talking about to the point where the encouraged me to start a tour guide company. But no, I did not like the crowds, or the additional rival JAPs, or the obscene amount of combat boots in Park Guell. Or the six girls wearing different color varieties of my silk Ruby and Jenna shirt paired with the same black Pleasure Doing Business skirt from Clothes Horse. There’s enough of that without all the visitors. Hopefully my winter gear for Prague next weekend will be more unique. Oh wait…my winter gear is Uggs, a long Michael Kors jacket, and an Urban head wrap. Definitely won’t find many of those. Like WTF?!
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