Belgium is NOT located in Germany.

I am in serious need of an intensive geography course.
Last night I went out with some friends without a plan. We wandered a bit, and ended up going into this discotecha called "Palacio" basically becuase we could get in for free and they would give my thirsty friends sangria. Oddly enough the guy that was out passing out flyers to get in for free recognized me from a picture I was apparently in with his girlfriend who I don't know. I've always wondered what pictures I'm in of other peoples'. I find that terrifying.
Palacio was actually pretty hopping so we stayed for a few hours. I met these two people from Belgium and asked them if they were going to Octoberfest since they lived in Germany and they were extremely confused. I couldn't figure out why, the loud "so jump around, so jump around" American song in the backround didn't make communication easy, but I ended up learning that Belgium is in fact a country and not a city in Germany. Who knew.
After skyping with my mother just now, it is now apparent my lack of navigation is inherited. She thought Amsterdam was in Belgium, but Belgium was a city? or something along those lines.
I was the one that rounded everyone up and got everyone a taxi. Luckily I was with Amy, my roomie, so we could split the fare. Probably my favorite part of last night was together devouring a whole leftover pizza from our overly large lunch when she and I got home.

I decided I need to explore restaurants around the school neighborhoods, so I will try one new one every week. So Amy and I had the leftover pizza from this Italian restaurant, Bisotti, that us and Naila, a gal from Baylor, had tried earlier that day for lunch. Most restaurants in Spain have a "menu del dia" with three courses and a glass of wine for around ten euro. We had an hour and a half long Italian feast sitting outside people watching.

I've been walking to and from school every day, which rounds out to about two ish miles each way. On my way home, I've taken up the habit of window shopping. In fact, I don't think I've walked home once without walking into at least one store. Yesterday was my first fabulous purchase consisting of above the knee suede boots with a matching cinturon, and it made me the happiest gal. I was carrying my overly large pizza box in this nice store, yet the lady still picked out my belt for me. There are so many little shops, bakeries and restaurants on my way to school. Apparently there's a starbucks somewhere close as well? I'm on the hunt. Spain coffee consists of espresso shots and leche. Long live America.

The other night Stephanie and i were supposed to meet up with some friends at "cave bar." Apparently it's a bar resembling a cave. Imagine that. But we were walking, couldn't find it after asking three seperate groups of people, and ended up walking back to my metro stop twenty minutes away. Her and I sat in my plaza drank a small glass of wine, had tapas, and talked about life. One of our friends, Vladamir came and joined us. I believe he is from the Ukraine and Brazil but is also Spanish? With a name like Vlad, it's hard to say.

Classes are going decently well, except today in class everybody wanted to lynch me. They were saying how racist America was, being a country full of the superior white race and all, and I was so fed up and interrupted saying we have a black president. Of course they know, I just wanted to casually remind them that the "white superiors" elected him as our leader not based on his color and this whole convo is insanity and America is a melting pot of culture.
I am the only white gal in class. The lynching of Jessica Foreman will be at midnight sharp. whatEVER.
My Interpersonal Communication class is excellent, and I am still enjoying it very much. We had a discussion about proposals and commodifying romance and such and very interestingly Spanish people do not propose regularly. Generally, when a couple has been together long enough they will talk about marriage and then get married sin proposal and engagement ring.
I'm American honey and I will relish when I get dos rings con diamonds and the Spanish ladies have a band.

And the treadmill battle continues with the treadmill always beating the opponent. Today at the gym my towel kept falling falling off and flying off the treadmill, so I'd stop, pick it up, put it up, watch it fly off again. Of course, this was after it took me a good five trying to figure out that the treadmill was not working becuase it was not attached to the necessary power outlet. The lady next to me was laughing hysterically and took pity on me as she picked up my towel and gave it to me while I continued to jog with my half working headphones. I'm a walking spectacle.

Tonight, I am going to a salsa bar with my dance class! How odd is it that I will be meeting my teacher at Plaza de Espana at midnight for a field trip to go dancing in a bar. Yesterday in class she made it very clear that we should not call her our teacher, or ask her to show us how to do something. Whatever will she be doing that the term "teacher" is not allowed? Tonight she will be our friend and dancing companion!
SALSAAAAAAA