There is something about rain that makes me want to cuddle under the covers and delve into a good book, light candles, or sit down and write something of my own. It is pouring here right now and Montse is not home. These are the key ingredients to a peaceful existence at 49 Carrer Verdi.
Yet, I am definitely moving. It's a for sure thing because I found another apartment in Eixample, much closer to school and with better people. Montse does not know this yet, nor do I think I am going to tell her. I did not leave her a deposit so I can literally leave whenever I want. One of my friends here said he escaped his first place in the middle of the night after the people had already gone to bed. He left them a note of farewell. I think I am going to do the same for the old bat. If I tell her ahead of time, I'll receive her guilt and she will tell me about how she is always alone. It is a sad story, I know, but Montse, you don't own me.
Montse is not always so easy to live with. Her manic cleaning and need for control is "una pesada," (freaking annoying, in plain terms). She always has to clean, and if everything is not clean at all times she bothers me about it. You see, Montse does not have a boyfriend to fill her time nor any real hobbies for that matter. Instead, her hobby is cleaning her apartment and her boyfriend is her diary. But, I don't know what she could possibly be writing about in the damn book because, aside from taking care of babies and battleaxes during the day, she just comes home at night to watch the news and American movies dubbed in Catalán. But that's only what I see of her life...
I know that Montse does have a second life, the part of her life that she keeps away from me. Perhaps, that life only surfaces on her diary's pages and in the Costa Brava where her other apartment is located. The other night she talked on the phone for over an hour to a man named Jordi. Who is this Jordi character, I wonder, because he had Montse tickled pink, talking in castellano (NOT catalán), and bragging about Cuca as though the cat had just graduated from medical school and was on the verge of discovering the cure to cancer. Turns out that Jordi and Montse have never met in person. They have an internet rendezvous that has now been moved to telephone, a more intimate relationship (clearly). So now I know that Montse spends her time at the internet cafes sending pictures to single Barcelona men, in hopes of getting a second glance.
Sorry that is post is more about Montse than it is about Barcelona rain, but she is such an enigma. To me Montse is annoying, rascist, obsessive, Catalán, and overall crazy, (among other good qualities) but there is, of course, more than that. One weekend when she returned from the Costa Brava she was sporting a black eye and bruises on both shoulders. She told me that her neighbor that lived below her beat her up. What?! What kind of man beats up a woman, and then, what was his motive? That's just another taste of Montse's secret life for you.
Did I mention that she left me post-it notes around the apartment reminding me of what I can and cannot do? I cannot escape this woman. When her high voice isn't there, her masking tape post-it notes are in its place.
Yet, I am definitely moving. It's a for sure thing because I found another apartment in Eixample, much closer to school and with better people. Montse does not know this yet, nor do I think I am going to tell her. I did not leave her a deposit so I can literally leave whenever I want. One of my friends here said he escaped his first place in the middle of the night after the people had already gone to bed. He left them a note of farewell. I think I am going to do the same for the old bat. If I tell her ahead of time, I'll receive her guilt and she will tell me about how she is always alone. It is a sad story, I know, but Montse, you don't own me.
Montse is not always so easy to live with. Her manic cleaning and need for control is "una pesada," (freaking annoying, in plain terms). She always has to clean, and if everything is not clean at all times she bothers me about it. You see, Montse does not have a boyfriend to fill her time nor any real hobbies for that matter. Instead, her hobby is cleaning her apartment and her boyfriend is her diary. But, I don't know what she could possibly be writing about in the damn book because, aside from taking care of babies and battleaxes during the day, she just comes home at night to watch the news and American movies dubbed in Catalán. But that's only what I see of her life...
I know that Montse does have a second life, the part of her life that she keeps away from me. Perhaps, that life only surfaces on her diary's pages and in the Costa Brava where her other apartment is located. The other night she talked on the phone for over an hour to a man named Jordi. Who is this Jordi character, I wonder, because he had Montse tickled pink, talking in castellano (NOT catalán), and bragging about Cuca as though the cat had just graduated from medical school and was on the verge of discovering the cure to cancer. Turns out that Jordi and Montse have never met in person. They have an internet rendezvous that has now been moved to telephone, a more intimate relationship (clearly). So now I know that Montse spends her time at the internet cafes sending pictures to single Barcelona men, in hopes of getting a second glance.
Sorry that is post is more about Montse than it is about Barcelona rain, but she is such an enigma. To me Montse is annoying, rascist, obsessive, Catalán, and overall crazy, (among other good qualities) but there is, of course, more than that. One weekend when she returned from the Costa Brava she was sporting a black eye and bruises on both shoulders. She told me that her neighbor that lived below her beat her up. What?! What kind of man beats up a woman, and then, what was his motive? That's just another taste of Montse's secret life for you.
Did I mention that she left me post-it notes around the apartment reminding me of what I can and cannot do? I cannot escape this woman. When her high voice isn't there, her masking tape post-it notes are in its place.
"Cuando se cocina encender el aire de la campalla."
When you cook turn on the air from the extractor.
"La cafetera limpia."
The clean coffee maker.
(Notice she avoids using command form, but just puts phrases. Passive aggressive punk.)
"Cuando se vaya el 'water,' limpia con la escobilla blanca."
When the water leaves, clean with the white broom.
(In other words, clean the shit tracks from the toilet.)
"No pisar fuera papel."
Don't step outside paper.
(This is my light switch to my room.)
That last photo comes with a story. Montse put down new wood floor and she doesn't have "ganas" to mop it everyday. Her solution is to put down bubblewrap on the floor so that my shoes don't mark the floor and, thus, she does not have to mop. Perfect, every time I took a step, the bubble wrap popped under my feet. When I walkd across the apartment to the bathroom for a 2am refresher, that damn bubble wrap gave me away, giving out under my weight. Luckily, Montse has now removed the bubble wrap from the floor but she requests that I don't wear shoes on the wood floor whatsoever. Right. Got it. Sweet. Awesome.
Screw that, I'm moving.
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