I have already used up my supply of creativity for the week, and it´s only Tuesday.

**DISCLAIMER- This blog may contain crude subject matter. However, there is no crudeness merely for the sake of crudeness. Any crudeness in this blog will be present because I feel it necessary to help explain something or expand upon something. If you are not ok with this, go get a sense of humor. **

Life has calmed down a bit for me here in Madrid. I am through my first week of classes, am settled into my apartment, and am learning my way around my new neighborhood. City life is still a bit new, but I am adjusting well, I think. Not only do I have to adjust to city life, but there are also loads of cultural differences that surprise me every day. Sometimes they make me laugh, sometimes they make me go, “hmmm,” and sometimes they make me frustrated. However, they all make life a little bit less monotonous. Here are some things I have noticed that you guys might find interesting.

Spain has a different view on beer and alcohol than the United States does. The first difference is that you can drink when you’re 18 here (as it is in most of the sane world). That’s the law, though it’s not strictly enforced. I have been out to several bars with my friends, and we never get asked for ID. And some of us look pretty young, though we are all in our early 20s. Ok, so no big deal. Go to the bar and have a drink as long as you don’t look younger than 12. Also, grocery and convenience stores everywhere sell beers individually, so if you wanted a quick drink on the run, easy. No need to buy a whole six-pack. McDonald’s even has beer on tap, right next to the Coca-Cola. In the building where I have my TEFL classes, the vending machine will shoot out a can of Mahou (Spain’s most popular beer) for a mere euro, to whoever puts one in and presses the correct button. No age questions there. All you young alcoholics out there, Spain’s the place to be!

I actually learned something just last night that made me feel pretty dumb about myself. In every private bathroom that I have been in (including those in the three hostals I stayed in, as well as the one in my current apartment) there is a little mini toilet-looking thing that I assumed was a foot basin. I mean, walking around the city in your flip-flops or sandals, and your feet get pretty dirty. How handy to have a little sink close to the floor to wash your feet in! Smart people…um, yeah, it’s not a foot basin. Anybody wanna take a guess at what it really is? It’s a douche, or a bidet (spelling may be wrong here) as the dainty French ladies call it. Hello! Yup, I have been washing my feet in a…um…yeah. Ewwww!

And now, let’s talk about food. What a nice transition…so, I’ve been exploring the local grocery stores lately. There are three fairly large ones near my apartment. Grocery-shopping has always been one of my all-time favorite “living on my own” activities. And grocery-shopping in another country is always an adventure. You have to bag your own groceries here, and sometimes you have to pay for how many plastic bags you use, but they are only like 3 cents each, so it’s not a big deal. I have been able to find many familiar foods and even some of the same brands from home. There are a few things that are really, really different though. The milk and eggs aren’t refrigerated here. They are just sitting out on shelves like your everyday box of cereal. I assume that you are supposed to refrigerate after getting them home. After all, who wants warm milk with their Oreos? And unrefrigerated eggs? That’s a foolproof recipe for disaster. A praise report- I finally found peanut butter! None of the large grocery stores had it, and by chance I found a jar in this little Ecuadorian import store near my apartment. It is called pasta de maní, rather than mantequilla de cacahuate, like I am used to saying. It has no added sugar and is kinda separated at the moment, with the peanut oil floating on top. I don’t care! It’s peanut butter and I can finally make a PB&J sandwich! Victory!

I bought laundry detergent the other day because I had loads of loads to wash. Silly me, I just bought the cheapest thing I saw and didn’t even smell it first. So now all my clean clothes smell like men’s Axe body spray. Strongly. We don’t have a dryer and have to hang everything outside to dry, so there is nothing to tone down the smell but the wind. Oh well, there’s nobody here I want to smell good for anyway. Just to be on the safe side though (since I have my classes in a fairly homosexual side of town) I am planning on making a big tag to wear on my chest that says “I like men!” Wait. People might take that the wrong way. How about, “I’m not a lesbian!” Yeah, that’ll work.

So, I am adjusting, bit by bit, to this whole Live-in-Madrid thing that I have gotten myself into. Life’s fun, and my classes and new friends are great. I do miss home though. I called my grandparents this afternoon and they were planning to go down to the lake with my family and have a nice little barbeque thingy. I miss being able to do that. Oh well, if I get too lonely, I can just hop on the metro and go sit by the lake in the park for a few hours. Well, that might actually make it worse. Ok! I admit it. I really miss home! Someone come visit me! Please! Now!