Tag Archives: pigg

A pig, a bullfighter, and Hannbal Lecter.

15 Jan

Helllooooo MTV… This is my application for an amazing reality television show that would put “16 and Pregnant… and a Dumbass” to shaaame. I suggest we call my show “WTF is going on!?” and my Spanish spinoff shall be called “Que Pasa?!?! Que Pasa?!?!”

I am in Madrid and safe… but lordhavemercy I should have started learning Spanish before I left my mother’s womb. I have no idea what is going on most of the time and my jet-lag makes my mind lag worse than my sleep cycle. People look at me a bit strange but overall the biggest lesson I have learned thus far is… Julia Roberts made it look easy.


In true “Lauren crazy town” fashion (as if i didn’t have enough stalkers, crazy encounters, fumbles, and schizophrenics in my American life the force has decided to stay strong with this one abroad as well) I hit the ground running, traveling to Badajoz. Don’t ask me how to say that. But it’s what we in the Midwest would call the “country.” But this “country” across the pond is a little more… deadly.

We get there Friday night…after 6 hours of car sickness and a new shade of pale for my record-books…we get to see the pig… the next day I go back and I still see the pig… in a hundred pieces… but don’t worry… it’s head was still in tact… and it’s eyes… the eyes. They kill the pig (thank GOD I missed that, seriously), and then cook the pig, and then we eat the pig.

Lauren ate salad.

I thought I liked ham… but I didn’t understand. And sausage… I didn’t understand that either. They are making sausage… AT THE PARTY. And the smell … I REALLY didn’t understand that.

But so ok, the pig is dead… so what’s next… Horse riding! Yes that’s right I traveled thousands of miles to go to the country and watch people ride horses. Oh the irony. And even better bull fighting! Now the bullfighting is much different from the type I am very familiar with in America (due to the fact that my father has rodeo-ed my whole life) It was REALLY amazing, but perhaps I don’t understand what the point of it is OR that it didn’t matter because the bull fighter was cute…and he seemed interested… and he beckoned me over… and he didn’t speak ONE word of English. Nada. Not even “Hello” or “Hi” or “America.”

But don’t worry! because the engaged drunken Spanish guy the size of Napoleon knew enough English to let me know that 1)I had eyes like the sea and 2) my golden hair was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and that 3) he would leave his fiance for me anytime I wanted… in front of her.

Needless to say the fiance had eyes like Hannibal Lecter and… I’m not sure due to the language… but I think I’m lucky I made it out of there and back to Madrid without joining ranks with the pig.

Perhaps I taste better? I’ll keep you posted. 🙂


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