Thumbing through a spanish-to-english phrase book, Bash began to chuckle, not loud but loud enough for the teacher to inquire the source of his glee. He attemped to "nevermind" her, but she persisted. Reluctantly, he recited the phrase, "Lo siento, no puedo lavantarla." She laughed a profound laugh leaving the rest of the class confused. Bash informed them the phrase meant, "I can't get it up, sorry." They too, joined in the laughter. Apparently, Bash was researching useful phrases he might need later in the evening.

Costa Rica Person:

Your latest post Costa-wreaks of falsehoods, although I admire your mastery of Photoshop.

Ricky from Not Another Teen Movie:


And Bash from I'm Bash, a Bumbling Bafoon Who Bumbles About and Is an Idiot and Smells His Own Butt:

Took a cable car from the marina to the top of Mont Juic. I am afraid of heights, so I clung to Laurie's Hazan's ankle the entire time. Apparently there was a mountain high enough.

Once on top of the Mountain, I saw all the Olympic stadiums, and a life-sized hedge maze. Man, did I get lost, despite the maze being closed. I bought a bag of peanuts and they reminded me of summer days at Wrigley Field, minus the sweltering heat and dizzying Old Style buzz.

We walked down the mountain via the stairs of the MNAC, an ancient castle turned art museum. We walked to my new apartment to showcase it to the lovely ladies I was escorting. I put on Mowtown greatest hits and I taught a spastic Brooke Glazer (Mourice Korie's cousin) how to dance. I am thinking about turning our new apartment into a dance studio. It's only fair I share my G-D-given gift with the world.

I just bought 95 Euros worth of groceries and and going to prepare a feast. I probably won't be able to dance for a few days afterwards.

Ding dong ditch,
DML

Apologies to my loyal readers for the lack of posts in the last few days. My work as scribe for Juan Carlos, the King of Spain, has taken over the majority of my free time. My work as jester for Juan Carlos, the King of Spain, has taken up the rest of my free time. Stay tuned for more hilarious anecdotes and goofy conundrums.

Fart,
DML

Here's why participatory journalism is a terrible idea: Semester in Costa Rica. It's a blog featuring the zany misadventures of a college student studying abroad for one semester. Sound familiar? I thought so. It's exactly the scheme of the Fear Monger. The similarities between the two blogs are uncanny, leading me to believe this "Costa Rica abroad traveling character" is not in Costa Rica at all, rather plagiarizing my material and whoring it for Google ads. Regardless of my ultra-liberal stance on prostitution and plagiarism, I will let you, the reader, decide for yourself.

First off, he's discussed his living conditions just as I did on my January 16th post. Interesting how just five days later he would randomly decide to talk about living conditions. Shameless.

He goes on to talk about the perception of Americans by the locals. This would be an original and fascinating topic had I not written on the same topic just two days prior.
To make matter worse, he uses pictures to convey meaning; precisely the tactic employed staff here at Fear Monger.

I will say this to you "Costa Rica boy": It's a sad day for American journalism when a cold-blooded, acne-ridden mongoloid like yourself decides to steal ideas from others and present them as his own, hoping for a monetary windfall. You should consider actually going abroad rather than basking in the all too familiar glow of World of Warcraft on your 45-inch computer monitor, living vicariously through those who actually are living a dream (Fear Monger).

You sicken me,
DML

Afrika Boombaata.

Mourice (Korie) Glazer and I met up after class this afternoon. We wondered down narrow side streets negotiating thugs, hoodlums, mark-ass tricks, trick-ass marks, and scallywaggers on our way to La Passatore, my favorite restaurant in Barcelona so far. Over a bottle of red wine and a margarita pizza we argued about which was the best rock band of all time, Creed or Nickleback. After two-plus hours of deliberation, we decided to settle the dispute with an arm wrestling match. I am in a sling now. It was a draw.

In other news, I went to the Pharmacia for the first time with Bash. He was suffering from sinus pressure and sickle cell anemia. He described his symptoms and the friendly pharmacist, Helena, gave him medicine and described to him how to take it, as well as other methods he could use to better himself. Seeing how easy it was, I told her I suffered from severe anxiety, had trouble sleeping, and terrible pain everywhere in my body. She referred me to a private Pharmecia, a peg-legged ex-pirate named Rufus who sells churros on Las Ramblas at night. I made an appointment with him by pager.

DML

Everything I see reminds me of her...

Essentially, I'm trying to moisturize my situation which will in turn preserve the sexy.

Thank you,
DML

Here's why I love the Internet. I received an email about travel plans from my mom, I responded. Immediately upon sending my response, Orbitz sent me an ad. Yes! Thank you Orbitz. And I didn't even have to think, only click, and SAVE!

Last night a 30-year-old man beat a 60-year-old woman with her own cane, said a friend. An American student took offense and speared the man onto the concrete bloodying him, he said. I was not there, but isn't 60 a little old to be a prostitute?

The Superbowl? Fogetaboutit.

Mozel Tov,
DML

Also, wandering around the Gothic quarter I saw a crazed accordion player. I put a 2 euro coin in his fedora. Then we went into the studio and laid down a 4 track EP featuring him on the accordion, myself on the kazoo, and Bash singing falsetto backup vocals. Dr. Dre's non-union Spanish equivalent produced it, El Doctor Dre.

DML

Today I went to the Museum of Barcelona History where I saw Roman Ruins that lie beneath the city. Most of what remained was a wine factory. It was rather fascinating. http://w10.bcn.es/APPS/wprmuseuhistoria/web/eng/museu/index.htm

Tomorrow is the NFC championship. I am currently tailgating.

Check yourself before you wreck yourself,
DML

Yesterday was a success. Sussi, Bash, and I found an italian restaurant in the Gothic district. I ordered gargoyles marinara. (I apologize ahead of time for that).

Last night we went to a party at Club Sutton. I wore a tie and danced until I ran out of bar mitzvah moves. The spanish version of the Rockettes performed during the party. I fell in love 3 times. Bash was particularly fond of the male dancer performing with them. Not surprising considering earlier in the day, he came out of the closet.

I read that Beckham signed with the LA Galaxy for a billion dollars. Cool that the city of LA is signing free agent celebrities. I can't wait for Posh Spice's new record to drop. I heard it's being produced by Timbaland.

Tonight I went to a bar, Mondo, in Port Vell overlooking the sea. A woman there kept taking pictures of us (C Glaze, Sussido, The Man With the Tran, Bashwinks, and myself). I got overconfident, tried a model spin, and fell down. I hope she didn't get any pictures of that.

G-D Bl-ss,

DML

Some kid named Mourice came over today. Bash, Mourice, and I drank some Heineken and wandered around. Bash took us in the wrong direction and we didn't accomplish anything except find a churro stand which I adored.

Tonight we went to a bar that took Americanism to the extreme. They offered 1,2,6,and 12 liter beers and mixed drinks. needless to say, I was the designated driver or as I like to call it; the life-saving nerd.

Then we went to a club called "up and down" where I peed on several bartenders. It's considered a compliment here in BCN.

Punches and sidekicks,

DML

I'm starting to feel at home in this country, despite being called bush-supporting, NASCAR-obsessed gringo everywhere I go. I really should ditch this NASCAR hat and Bush warmup suit I've been sporting. I am feeling more comfortable with the language each day. I know I need to work on my accent though, because often when I say something in Spanish, a local will respond in English.

Last night I went to a bar called The Black Sheep (in spanish) to meet a friend of Bash's sister from college. He's a party promoter here in BCN. We talked music over 3 giant pitchers of beer until we worked up the moxy to approach a table of southern bells from Vanderbilt. Bash offended one of the girls and the 9 of them left. Odd how thin-skinned southerners are when you tell them that you wish they had seceded from the Union.

Today we searched for a new apartment. Our living situation is less than ample. Bash and I high-five every night before bed, while in our beds. Weird? Yes, but you all wish you thought of it. (Not the high five itself, well maybe, but more so the beds being so close that you could execute it).

A cheesy James Bond villain was the real estate agent who showed us the apartment. It's brand new and located directly in our preferred neighborhood, the hooker district in between Robbertown and Muggerville. We'll see how it pans out.

Who knows what tonight has in store for me besides sloppy kisses and bear hugs. Check back at your convenience to find out.

High five!
DML

I have been a busy man. Busy, and too important to write to you people. Last Thursday, we flew to Sevilla. In the BCN airport, I told the kids on my program that I forgot to pack clothes and instead only candy. Some were amused, some tried to punch me. After a night sitting at a table at David Beckham's club, Danzetoria, then heading straight to the airport, this was only half a lie.

Sevilla was unbelievable. I was overwhelmed by a sense of history portrayed through cheap souvenirs; postcards, mini license plates, shot glasses, etc. The first day we went on a walking tour of churches of Sevilla. I get it, they love jesus and building buildings for him. Apparently they also love this guy named McDonald and the King of Burgers just as much.

The first full day we went to Cadiz, where Carnevale takes place. I mistook Carnevale for Marti Gras and the second week of January for the the day I was there and was asking everyone to show me their boobs while refusing to drink anything smaller than a yard.

The second day we went to Cordoba. I saw the third largest mosque in the world built in the 6th century. There was a palatial chapel in the middle of it built by the catholic church in the 10th century. After visiting the mosque and chapel, I wandered around the city and found Jesus. Jesus Fernando, the kite and novelty salesman who nearly violated me trying to sell me cheap party tricks. I told him he could earn 14 cents the hard way, but I think my humor was lost in translation. I kicked him in the left shin and ran.

Having slept a total of 26 minutes, I headed back to Barcelona where I eagerly loaded and reloaded NFL.com to catch the live updates of the Bears game. I found out we won but had no one to celebrate with seeing as though my roommates are from Connecticut and Bash was on a later flight. I decided to bang my head against the wall. The next thing I knew it was tomorrow, today, whatever.

More to come. Stay tuned.

DML

Will someone loyal to the fear monger forum recommend a restaurant in BCN? Seriously, what's wrong with you folks? I feel full of culture and empty of food. Not that culture isn't filling. Also, beware of Lawrence Nightingale.