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bolt the locks, grab your cocks, i'm back to rock your socks!
*smacks self so no one else has to do it*
four pages in a week and a half? damn y'all, ian wasn't lying to me! sara, you'll love this: i was just reminded to check TA when i turned on the television and 90210 was on  skip this long next paragraph if you're not interested in my trip, or just skim it.
quick overview of trip in the style of "the rules of attraction": flew from chicago to london, sat in heathrow for ages trying to get a flight to madrid, iberia airlines makes me think we're going to tip over on take offs and landings, madrid is a lot smaller than you'd think and the cab driver ripped us off. got up the next day and took the metro back to the airport to pick up our car, a darling little diesel opel. drove to granada and learned some spanish so i could actually order food, couldn't find the center of the city and got a hostel. next day when to alhambra, which is indescribably awing. got in the car again, drove to the southernmost town in spain, an amazing windsurfing town called tarifa. got another hostel that ran out of hot water really quickly, caught the ferry to tangiers the next morning. tangiers was an experience, glad i could say i did it but in all it was an overrated letdown ripoff and we almost didn't make it home. customs asked if i had anything to declare, i said, "yeah, don't go to morocco." spent the next morning in tarifa, it was a spectacular day and my brother and i walked barefoot on the beach and felt like there was nothing else in the world. drove to sevilla, had started bickering with brother by this point because we had no one to talk to but each other because we don't speak spanish. got a smelly hostel in sevilla that was very pretty, got drunk and walked around the town all night and saw a hilarious 80s-ish spanish band that people seemed to think was pretty hip. woke up brutally hungover the next day, didn't see the cathedral because i was afraid i'd puke in it. got in the car, popped some codeines and slept most of the drive back to madrid. restocked my codeine supply at the farmacia because it's cheaper than candy (literally, i bought a snickers bar that was more expensive than a pack of 20 pills) and i superior to american medicine because it's hot pink. played around madrid for several days and drank a lot, saw the palace, bought fuck-me boots for very cheap (explanation on the significance later), went back to london. hadn't eaten in several days because i was so tired of pork, so i housed a guiness pie and some murphy's like you've never seen. stayed at a hostel with a pub, got wasted in the pub and made friends with people, kissed a random guy who told me i look like some movie star, but i can't remember which. assaulted piccadilly square in an alcoholic lust trying to find an off-license from 3-430 but settled for chinese food instead. got to heathrow late the next morning and barely got on the flight back, popped a codeine, drank my free champagne, reclined the seat into bed position and passed the fuck out of a couple hours.
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