Moving up in Madrid

So I’ve decided to move out. After much deliberation and one too many fried fish sticks for dinner, this girl has decided to jump ship. I’m leaving these [Hail] Mary’s behind.

This in large part has to do with the fact that my dinners consisted of: fried fish 4 nights a week served on a slick bed of olive oil, “salads” of brown and wilted iceberg lettuce (iceberg? really?) with tomatoes you needed a hack saw to bite through, and hot dogs. Additionally, I don’t actually know what a hack saw is.

One nugget of fun was when I was told by Celia The Terrible to sit up straight while giving lessons. On the couch. To her kids in pajamas. Because it’s hard to have her children sit up straight when the teacher she’s not paying is leaning back in the arm chair.
How bout this? I’m 30. I will sit how I want.

So I gathered all of my sleuthing abilities into one corner of my brain and open fired onto the closest possible escape route. Within an hour someone contacted me about a room. I went to go look at said room that night, bounded home to pack and eat my last meal of fried mozzarella sticks (!) and was gone by early afternoon.
Deucies!

I am gonna miss these kiddos though. And their mad dancin’ skillz


The following day….Sweet baby Jesus I had never experienced such wonderful freedom. It’s amazing what things like a window (previously in a cave) and a double bed (was in a single) can do to one’s morale. For me, I felt like I had won the lottery. The welcome-to-your-new-life-in-Madrid-now-go-have-fun-and-see-what-kind-of-trouble-you-can-stir lottery.

And this, my friends, is when all my luck seemed to turn for the better…mwhahahaha (rubbing hands together mischievously)

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