A good friend, tapas, sangría, and a Spanish haircut.

Jessica left yesterday to go back to Verona. We had a great time hanging out in Barcelona. We walked around the city tons, Jessica saw the Sagrada Familia four times (it was like the universe was pulling her back to this place), she bought gum from the grocery store because she claims the gum is really crappy in Italy (thus, she stocked up in Spain). We cooked delicious banana pancakes and put peanut butter and honey on top, braved going out at night in the rain, and we had a personalized tour of the city in a car from one of my catalán friends (when was the last time I was in the passenger seat of a car? I can't quite remember...). On her last night we ate a lovely 3 hour-long tapas dinner and drank sangría. This dinner was so good that it left us in a food coma and, in all fairness, partially inebriated. At this point we decided that the apple tart with cinnamon ice cream on the side was a must. We were not disappointed.

See you back in the good ol' U.S. of A., Jess. I had a wonderful time!

After Jessica left yesterday I came back to my room and listened to music for a few hours, immersing myself with music that I remember from 8th grade. Artists like R. Kelly and Usher "wooed" me as I procrastinated on making myself go get a haircut. Finally at around 2pm I motivated myself to get my ass out the door and make an appointment at The Pelu where I had my hair cut the last time.

I returned at 4pm yesterday afternoon for the haircut. Little did I know that this appointment would change my life forever. Yes, I'm going to take the liberty and be dramatic here. I step into the cute salon that was playing the familiar Ray soundtrack with music exclusively sung by Ray Charles. I knew it well. As the hairdresser washed my hair, she hummed the melody and I sang the lyrics inside my head. She asked me, "¿Qué quieres que te hago?" I told her that I wanted to her trim off 3 fingers of length. "¿Y no lo llevas escalado?" Okay, so I do have some layers, all of which were probably dead and gone by this time. They have either been killed by the rugged day-to-day hardships of Spanish life or the fact that my wallet and I have conveniently neglected them for the last 3 months. Whatever the case "un poco escalado" sounded good to me. I didn't realize that later I would rethink my decision.

I sit down in the chair and the hairdresser, still humming to Ray Charles, "Everybody's doing the mess around," combs out the knots and starts the trim. I watch the receptionist behind me in the mirror; her face tells me that she's a bit dumbfounded and worried about the amount of hair I have. Meanwhile, the hairdresser continues to cut. "I got a women," snip, snip, snip, "way over town," snip, snip, "good to me," a snip and a WACK. I tell myself, it's okay. No freaking out at the length. It will be good.

She finished the cut and tells me, "Lo secamos y después lo miramos, ¿vale?" Okay. It looks short to me, but okay. The hairdresser starts to blowdry my hair and the receptionist behind her decides to spring into action to help her blowdry with what is the large, but now trim, animal that lays on my head. So at this point I have two Spanish women hovering over me, armed with hairdryers and humming to Ray while working in sync of each other. It was a sight to see really. After it's dry, they both reach for the next weapon--the flat iron. They divide my hair even in half, each taking a side of it. I have never had so much attention to my hair at once. I couldn't help but laugh.

After they finish the flat iron, the "assistent" leaves, Ray calms down a bit and decides to sing "Georgia on my mind," and the hairdresser decides to "feather" the ends of my hair. I think it looks fine now, but at the time I was a bit unsure. After all was finished I was a bit shocked at the weight of my hair. It weighed nothing. Then when I looked down to see that there was enough of my hair on the floor to clothe a small child, and I felt like I had just digested one of Schmink's hairballs after he has given Bouba a thorough bath. I felt bald. "¿Qué me has hecho?" I thought. I walked back looking at my hair in the reflection of the store windows. Wow, it's gone.

Now, don't get me wrong. It is NOT a bad haircut, but because I was so shocked I ended being pretty rude to Marlene and Xavier when they commented on it.

Xavier: ¡Mira que guay! ¡Me gusta el pelo escalado!
Jackie: Lo ODIO.
Marlene: Ahhh, ¿¡escalado?! Ayyyyyyy.
Jackie: Marlene, no me digas NADA. [goes in room and closes door]
Marlene: [knocks on door.] ¡JACKIE!
Jackie: ¿QUÉ? [without opening door]
Marlene:¡Estás guapa!
Xavier: Marlene, déjala.

They understood the shock I'm sure. Marlene and Xavi, I'm sorry I was so rude.

I guess now I can say that Spain has left it's mark on me.


image added retroactively, due to request. Here's the Spanish imprint on my head.