DAY 57: La Prostituta

Sometimes I feel like I´m a prostitute. Not because I ask people to pay me for sex (although that would come in handy given my current financial situation) but because when I go out for drinks I literally just stand around the streets waiting for someone to proposition me with flyers for free drinks. It sounds sad, and of course when I say this I´m not implying I do this alone, but it does actually work. So take last night for example, Andrew and I went out for some vino and got some free shots, some free drinks and a free shisha. We did, however,  have to pay for some of our drinks....what a pain :P. There´s this wine bar near Sol which gives you large glasses of wine for 1 euro a glass....so of course we ordered 2 each at the same time and poured one into another...we know how to play this game. Andrew and I also really know how to lower the class in any situation. There was a cute wee old British couple sitting in front of us who were obviously out to have a nice wee evening together. Without realising at first that they were in fact English, I started telling Andrew about a story I heard from Castle Leazes when I first arrived in Newcastle....I may as well repeat the story now for those of you who don´t know it:

"There once was a girl who went back with a guy after a night out to have a bit of fun. In the morning, she snibbed the door and went to the loo where she took a massive shit. Blocking the toilet, she (strangely) decided to fish out the poo with a plastic bag (I really don´t understand this...I personally would have just run...). She then proceeded to carry the poo in the bag to find a bin. On her way to the bin she went back into the guy´s room to pick up her things and leave and also wrote him a wee note saying something like ´Thanks for last night. I had fun. Here´s my number´(this a very polite girl)! She left the note beside his bed whilst he was sleeping and left, unsnibbing the door. Now of course us ex-leazes folk will remember the big drama of locking yourself out your room if the door is left unsnibbed. (Too many funny images of students having to go down to reception in their towels after forgetting their keys). So anyway, as she left, she suddenly realised she had left her bag of shit beside the note! What a lovely ´reward´ for the ´lucky´guy to wake up to after a night of drunken sex."

SO, yes I told Andrew this (far too strange and unrealistic to be true) story or "myth" in the bar and the old couple literally looked at me like a piece of filth. As I said, I really know how to bring down the class in any situation. Andrew and I downed our drinks and left.

Woke up this morning feeling a little bit ropey, but thats nothing some Irn Bru imported from Edinburgh Airport at the weekend can´t solve! I bought two bottles at W H Smith...you know...the little 2 for such a price offer that you get there....and drank one on my flight and "saved" the other one for Liz, who is also Scottish and who I´m sure also misses the bru (who wouldn´t?!). However, when I´m hungover, my thoughts for others just fly completely out the window, so sorry Liz, you can wait another month until the beautiful bright orange soda hits your lips again!

I was on Skype to my friend Felicity yesterday who asked me a very important question. "Sarah, do you actually do anything cultural, you know, besides going to work and drinking?" So this is embarrassing, no I don´t Felicity. No I don´t. What is my life? Uni sends you to a foreign country to learn a language and some culture....I´m really failing at life right now. It also makes me laugh how uni gives you money to go (not that I have received it yet). Surely they must know what most of that money is spent on? a...l...c...o...h...o...l. Saying that, my friend Rosie made a very important purchase with her grant...a wee designer handbag! Seriously, only Rosie would do this...bloody model. Andrew was also telling me last night about someone he knows who literally got a nose job with hers! When in Rome right?

DAY 38: La Nudista

Well well done me and my linguistic skills. I was talking to one of the girls at work today about my dad and describing to her the term 'dadd'y's girl'. In this explanation what I meant to say was 'I suck up to my dad so that he think's I'm a little princess'....what it came out as was ' I suck off my dad so that he thinks I'm a little princess.' F.M.L. The horror on this girl's face was followed by 'QUE?!' especially with the fact that I said it so casually. At first I thought, alright calm down love, I suck up to my dad yeah to fool him a bit what's the big deal, I don't like him knowing and I smoke, get drunk...and other things...(even though I'm fooling myself that he doesn't already know these things)...and then she told me what I said, forever scarring me with that image in my mind. Good one Sarah! Ew.

ANYWAY, apart from that work has been pretty busy this week with lot's of events. This means a lot of setting up tables and greeting people but it also means a lot of free food and wine. I got to go to an international event is this very fancy casino on Tuesday night and have lovely champagne and dinner. Actually, the dinner wasn't that great, it was fish (gag) - never give me fish - but it was still fancy. Today's event was a breakfast meeting called 'Fashion Lab' and so there were people coming from Luis Vuitton, Hermes, Cortefiel etc, and as you would suspect, a lot of very camp men! I tried to dress appropriately, you know business chic 'with a twist' but pretty sure my style didn't quite suffice. However, it was fun to see all these people none-the-less even though all I did was go up and down an elevator all morning bringing each person to the conference room. That's 50 floors by the way, up and down 50 levels every 5 minutes! There was a man and woman who came in and I just assumed they were business partners as they seemed to know each other reasonably well. Maybe they were, but they also seemed to have quite an 'initimate' relationship. As we went up the tower, he kept his hand on her ass whilst they kissed and stroked each other....not really something you would expect to see in an office for a global audits company..especially in a lift full of staff...but the Spanish are pretty fond of their PDA. Gag. Seriously, they are kissing everywhere you go, and in the park they practically have sex. So grim. Not a fan of a pda...

So I get the metro every morning to work and as you do on the London tube, I people watch. It's quite good because what I've come to realise is that Spain (I guess like London as well) really has a lot of weirdos. I've seen transvestites, more people practically having sex and women breast feeding with their full on boobs out, no kidding, I've seen their nipples and everything....and they call the English girls slags....:P It also gets so hot on the metro and as a fake tan user, this does not bode well, with brown beads of sweat dripping down my neck....lovely. Sometimes it should just be acceptable to walk around naked...although I guess that contradicts what I just said about the breast feeding mothers!

Apart from all that I have had a pretty quiet week chilling by myself, which has actually been quite nice. I can laze about and catch up on series, walk round naked, have time to cook nice food and skype my friends back home. Tonight, however, I am out for another 'despedida' (farewell party) so the free drinks will be flowing. Tomorrow then I off to Alcala (again)...it has become my second home! Here's to it being Friday! 

DAY 16: La Ley

I woke up this morning in my bra and tights, contacts still in making me half blind and make up still on. There was a half eaten bowl of pasta next to me and all the lights were on. I looked at my watch, it said 12pm and I honestly thought it was just broken. So then I looked at my phone and nope, it was 12pm - I had missed work!

So last night I was invited out for drinks with some of the office people. I really didn't want to go. I just imagined a bunch of older accountants having a couple of beers and being home before 12. With what I just described to you as my morning, clearly, I was wrong! I met Isabel and a couple of others at the metro stop and we walked to this nearby bar where everyone was wearing nice dresses and heels .... I was in a blue shirt and denim shorts (which I have somehow ripped). Anyway, the alcohol was free and I was very shy and nervous, so there was really no other option than to drink a lot. Everyone talked to me in English, probably not the point of me being here but hey, and they wanted to know all about the UK and how it's different to Spain. I then got onto a conversation about the differences between Spanish boys and English boys and Spanish girls and English girls. So this guy said to me 'This is how we perceive the British. You will agree with what I say about boys but you will get angry with what I say about the girls.' I nudged him on. 'English boys are...how you say.....assholes?' I agreed. 'And well erm, English girls, I think the word is...easy?' I laughed. 'You're not angry?' he said. 'Not at all. It's true.' And so there we go first impression made, I'm a slag. 

So after a couple of beers, a couple of sangrias, and a treble gin and tonic (yeah it's not just Newcastle folks ;) ), Fernando, crazy crazy Fernando ordered 5 shots of whisky and says to me. 'You're Scottish. You've got to show us how it's done.' Christ. I thought he was meaning I had to do all the shots! Luckily not, they were for other people as well. That did not go down well. 

We were in this bar until about 2am (early in Spain), drinking, smoking inside, dancing, eating...it was so much fun, and everyone was trying to teach me Spanish swearwords. Fernando, crazy crazy Fernando, told me that if I wanted to say that I'm drunk, I can use the word 'mamoda' (I think). However, this has two meanings, the first being 'I'm drunk' like he said, and the second, the meaning he did not to tell me, was basically 'I want to blow you'. Great. So as I said it to people I got a lot of looks like 'alright calm down you Scottish slag' until I was finally told otherwise!

We headed to a club around 2.30am which was really good fun and it was at this point I just became a total mess. It's that moment in the night where just don't care how stupid you look. I was jumping on people, stealing people's hats, taking photos and apparently...sending my friends snapchats of me on the toilet?? I really know how to stay classy. Suddenly it was 5.30am and it was time to go. We all walked out, which at this point I realised all the girls I was hanging with had gone, and it was just me and the boys. Anyway, I really don't know how this happened but I got into a political debate with this guy about the UK and Spain. I say political debate but it was really just him winding me up well with me drunkenly yelling 'yeah but you're country is in so much shit, the UK rule all'. What an embarrassment! I forget sometimes how angry I can get when I'm drunk...some of you will know this all too well! The argument eventually ended after I realised he was just taking the piss out of me and we ended up hugging being like 'I LOVE YOOOOOU'. Typical. 

I remember coming home at 6am and laughing so much and practially talking to myself going 'ah I have an hour to sleep. Hehehe. I'm so naughty. Hehehe.' Now I swear I set my alarm...but erm, clearly I was far too pissed. SO my boss is going to be happy on Monday.....

Oh, and I better mention, I called this blog 'La Ley' because that is what they have all started calling me. It means Law in Spanish. I quite liked it, because because I was 'the law', everyone had to play by my rules...which means, next time I go out with Fernando, he has promised to wear a skirt to represent a true Scotsman ;) yeah buddy.

DAY 9: Los Chicos

IT'S FRIDAY!!!! Slaw is happy happy happy.

So, I completed my first week of work and I have to say, I'm a little bit proud of myself. The work is really not that enjoyable and I honestly cannot stand the women I work with. They're so unfriendly and look down on me so much and literally I just want to be like 'er...fuck you.' However, on Monday, I've been told I'm moving departments to Events Management, which is apparently a lot more fun. Adios putas! 

I have met some lovely work people though and yesterday had a massive lunch with a few of them. I'm also meeting a couple of the girls on Sunday for sushi, so that's good - the social life is expanding!

I do have a particular highlight of work today. Sitting at my desk, this man suddenly appeared and said 'Hola Sarah.' Who was he? I didn't know, but, he was BEAUTIFUL. He was very Spanish looking, and I take back my previous thought about not finding Spanish men that attractive. He stood there, tanned skin, wavy black hair, shirt unbuttoned and a wee cravat. BEAUTIFUL. So, who was he? Ah, it was Pedro - my dad's friend from work who had got me this internship - gotta love a cheeky connection. Pedro took me down to his office and was very welcoming. He kept asking me questions but I literally could not bring any words to my mouth. It was so embarrasing! I almost felt a bit like Anastasia Steele when she first meets Christian Grey, but without the chains, whips and handcuffs of course! (Girls, you know what I'm referring to..boys..the porn of the female world, Fifty Shades of Grey)! I was on the phone to my dad after work and told him how BEAUTIFUL Pedro was. He then goes 'Now, I don't want you being flirty Sazzer - he's married with kids.' Dad, do you think I'm some kind of home-wrecking slut? He's also like 45! Just nice to have some eye candy!

As I said though, Spanish men usually are not very appealing to me. They are so pervy and as you walk past go either 'ssssssssss' or 'you. are. beautiful.' It creeps me out. It's like they almost expect me to turn around and go 'yeah boy, lets have sex, right now.' Ew, no thank you. British boys, however, if you want to tell me I'm beautiful then I will more than welcome that compliment - although I do not see that happening!

Now there's a cafe/bar opposite my flat which I went to by myself the other day. I ordered a beer and tortilla and sat in the sun with my book. The waiter was very 'friendly'...he asked me for my name, where I lived and how long I'm here for and wanted to 'kiss me goodbye' when I left. I have to pass it everyday on the way to work, so whenever I see him standing outside and about to come over, I look the other way or as what everyone does in these kind of 'not wanting to talk to you situations'...pretend I'm on my phone!

Enough about boys and my vanity at being 'admired' though. Tonight I'm off drinking. I met Lara and Christian yesterday and they were really cool. A couple of beers yesterday, and (hopefully) a few more tonight! Cerveza Cerveza Cerveza!

DAY 8: La Mierda

Being a Scot, it´s understandable I find the heat here difficult. That is why last night my stomach was tossing and turning for hours whilst I huddled over my toilet. How grim. I blame dehydration and my habit of drinking beer instead of water. However, it could also have been the ´tuna´empanadilla I had at lunch...tuna is meant to be red, right? I was so gutted as well. I had been invited out for drinks with some Erasmus people that night, MY FIRST FIESTA IN SPAIN!!! Instead, I lay in the fetal position in bed, watching a partiuclar home comfort of mine, The Great British Bake-Off. Moving on from that, I feel so much better today and I am even considering going out for drinks tonight - you can take the girl out of Scotland...

The past two days at work have been just a little bit better. I emailed a Madrileño from the office in London who I met this summer and asked her if she could "hook me up" with anyone in the office here. I met Laura, a lovely, younger, Spanish girl who said that she will show me around the city. It´s been with this that I´ve been thinking how important it is to push yourself in these situations. You need to ask people about things and express when you´re unhappy. Otherwise, like before, you could just end up sitting at a desk all day doing nada.

The boss still isn´t great though. However, I did get some slight satisfaction over her the other day. As I implied previously, she´s one of these people who is quite up on her high horse. As I went to the office loo and waited as the cubicles were all full, my boss then appeared out of one. Seeing me there waiting, an embarrassed expression spread across her face - that's right, she had done both a stinker and a floater! 1 - up- slaw. Don't look at me like shit babe if I have to look at yours. And oh, I waited until another cubicle was free...faeces makes me gag.

DAY 5: La Fashionista

Spanish exchanges who came to our school were always memorable for dressing poorly. They would arrive with their polo-necks, baggy jeans and rucksacks, whilst us girls, at the age of 14, would be wearing uggs, skinny jeans and a tighter-fitting top to highlight our then AA-cup breasts. I guess I assumed that the exchanges just hadn’t grown into what we saw as ‘fashion’, however, seeing the women in the office on my first day of work, I think maybe poor dress sense is a Spanish thing. Middle-aged women dressed in floral dresses that were all too short for their older bodies to pull off, combining that with make-up that looked like they hadn’t taken off since the 80’s. I arrived, business chic, being the ‘sexy businesswomen’ I had always wanted to be. There I was in my tight black pencil skirt, peplum top (highlighting my now D-cup breasts) and ‘office’ stilettos, looking more like I was going out for drinks than a day in the office. Maybe acceptable in London, but here, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

If I’m honest, my first day at work was crap. That’s the only way to put it. My boss, Raquel, looked at me like a piece of shit and told me to unpack her boxes into her new desk. As I stumbled around in my heels and tight skirt unloading these many crates, I thought to myself ‘Is this really a marketing internship? No’. So after my first day, I am referring to her as the ‘office bitch’, but hopefully this will change over time.

DAY 4: La Gordita Inglesa

How Spaniards stay so slim and yet eat so much baffles me. It’s fair to say that by the end of my trip here I will no doubt be “una gordita inglesa”, somehow a compliment in Spain, it actually means “fat little English girl”. At every bar or café that I’ve been to so far, they will give you any free food just to accompany your drink. I’m talking small things like olives, crisps and peanuts, to larger plates like the English favourite, cheesy chips. It’s hard to avoid all this as well. Every second shop is a café (which also all serve as beer houses at the same time). It doesn’t help either that the alcohol is so cheap – 1 euro for a pint and 6 euros for a jug of sangria. Known as a bit of a ‘heavy drinker’ in Newcastle, or more commonly just a ‘mess’ – I think I’ll be pretty happy here!

So I came to Madrid with my parents, which was really just the comfort I needed to settle in with, but, as you would imagine, parents can’t last long without having their embarrassing moments. Firstly, we have my dad, referring to ‘la cuenta’ (the bill) at every restaurant as ‘la CUNT-a’, purely because he finds it funny to say to the non-English speaking waiter. Dad, you’re in your fiftees. Then we have my mum, practising her Spanish at every given opportunity. Mum maintains she has acquired Portuguese language skills from our holidays there and likes to mix it up with her ‘o-level’ French. With these ‘skills’ she has, she says she can understand everything. Mum, I’ve been studying Spanish since I was 14, if I am getting a 2:2 in Spanish at university, I doubt your education in the French language from when you were 15 is going to make you a fluent Spanish speaker. Anyway, it has been nice having them here none-the-less!

With my parents here, of course we had to do the standard touristy and cultural things – this included two museums. I have never had an interest in any museum in any country, however, there were two particular paintings that stuck out. The first was in El Prado – a woman who naturally turned into a man at the age of 37 but still had one boob left so that she could breast-feed her child. It was disturbing to say the least. The second was from La Reina Sofía – don’t ask me who drew it or what it’s called because honestly it really doesn’t interest me – but, this guy had painted a self-portrait of himself dying in a car crash. In order for the painting to sell, he then killed himself…in a car crash…which subsequently would earn money for his family…bit drastic love.

Now I’m here on my own in my little studio apartment (which I love). Scared shitless but with Marlboro Lights selling for 3 euros a 20-pack to calm my nerves, 4 bolts on my apartment door to keep me from getting burgled and a trusty rape alarm I got when I was 13 that is meant to help when I am actually in the midst of getting raped... (really?)...I’m hoping I’ll be ok.