Wegmans

Stop everything you're doing, and give all your attention to the fact that the almighty and most honored grocery store, Wegmans, has resurfaced into my life in the form of a little store called BonPreu!! I never thought I was going to find such a marvelous place to be, but it was seriously the happiest place on earth -- or in Barcelona at least. The only thing it's missing is the food court, but beggers can't be choosers. I think I could be in there for hours and never want to leave. It was amazing.

Anyways, so last night I went out by myself, because Amy was completely entranced by our new internet connection to get her butt in gear. I called Leah and decided it would be a good night to go out with her and her friends because there was a bar crawl and a party at a club (a characteristic similar to most, if not every night in this city). So Amy puts me in the cab and waves goodbye, meanwhile I'm thinking I know exactly where Leah's going to be. There can only be 1 "Ryan's Bar" in a city where most bars have spanish names, right? WRONG. I sat by myself, drinking alone (first bad sign), wondering where everyone is for the bar crawl and where the heck Leah could be. Finally, I ask the bartender and they inform me, with a slight grimace, that there is, indeed, another Ryan's Bar, about 3 blocks away. great... Luckily, at this point, a small British man invites me to sit with him and his friends and finish my beer. It seemed sketchy at first but they were harmless and kind of dumb. I was actually happy they walked me to the next bar on the crawl because it turned out to be down a series of dark, crowded, seemingly dangerous allyways that probably would not have been a smart move to walk alone. I finally find Leah, and she persists on staring at the guys who escorted me in, saying, "jackie, you brought a 40 year old man with you." In order to save my pride, I reply, "uhh no, he's only 35." I know, nice save.

After several shots, drink, and what have you, we end up at a big, loud club. I cannot tell you where it was, when we went, or what the name was, but I can tell you that I was very popular there. Free tequila shots? Yes, please! So I'm chattin' it up, making some friends and then it's time to leave. All 5 of us pile into a taxi and the driver proceeds to inform us that only 4 people can take the taxi. As the 5th wheel, I get out of the car and the other girls stay and make a big fuss about something with the driver. The next thing I know, the driver has called the police, and is physically pulling the girls by the arm out of the taxi. In my highly intoxicated state, I became very nervous, ditched the scene, and got in my own taxi -- and, as usual, started to cry. What would a drunken night be without crying, right? So, turns out, my cab driver felt so bad for me, he wouldn't let me pay for the ride. Perhaps I should always cry when I take cabs. Let's be honest, it wouldn't be a stretch. ha.

Barcelona is turning out to be one heck of a place...