I Left My Heart in Barcelona

I have been so miserable since coming back to Erfurt. It's just not the same. The weather is cold, the people unfriendly and defensive. It wouldn't hurt them to smile a bit, but they don't. I just...can't take this anymore. I am doing everything in my power to get out of this city by yearend. Ich habe kein Bok mehr auf dieser Stadt.

Because of this, I have decided to take the CELTA course (a training seminar for English teachers) in Barcelona! I will spend seven wonderful weeks there again in September, in time for the Merce! I could do it for a lot cheaper in Berlin. Berlin is a lovely city, I love it to bits, but would like to build a life in Barcelona. I already have a favorite bar, I already have acquaintances. It will take a toll on my finances, but Barcelona, here I come again!

¡Viva El Chabacano! ¡Viva Castellano!

I am SO determined to make Spanish my fourth language as a tribute to my grandfather, the last Spanish-speaking person in my family, and as a nod to my remote Spanish heritage. Daddy, I may not have been so disciplined when I was 14, but I am determined to make up for that now.

I am so psyched that there is a new Chabacano renewal going on in the Philippines!

But what is Chavacano?



From Christopher Sundita of the Salita Blog (please update!)

So I was basically wiki-surfing (the evolution of my geeky dictionary surfing habit) when I chanced upon this Chavacano band! Soooo cool! If you click on "more info," you'd get the Tagalog translation of the lyrics. If you understand Cebuano or Tagalog and Spanish, then you'd understand the song, without translations. I am so a fan of Comic Relief! Their vocalist is cool.Go Philippine bandas!



And lastly, I am so psyched that Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has made Spanish a national language and re-instated it in Philippine schools. I was lucky that I went to the University of Santo Tomas, (go USTe!) where Spanish was the mandatory foreign language subject (I had it for two semesters, my aunt and mother had four). I am going to make it a point to listen to ¡Filipinas, Ahora Mismo! (or Pilipinas Ora Mismo!) over the internet. It is an initiative to revive Spanish in the Philippines. It was never really lost, but has mutated into it's foreign cousin. We can't deny that the Spaniards have exerted a huge influence on our country, and it would be pointless to quibble about how evil and cruel they were. It's all in the past. C'mon guys, it's part of our legacy.Indelible. And besides, won't it be sooo cool to be trilingual?

Before Dawn

It seems the world is growing more and more uncertain and pessimistic. Is it just me or is everybody going through shit?

I have been following B.'s blog, and my heart goes out to her family.

English lessons have tapered off in these cost-cutting times.

I am still battling the flu.

And I am soo hoping that we will get the green light for the move.

I hope everybody will be ok.

"Was Er Nicht Weiß Macht Ihn Nicht Heiß"*

It all started on a really shitty Sunday two weeks before Christmas. It was dark, cold, I was alone, and felt really lonely. I walked from the train station to the tram stop when a man looked to me and asked, "What's wrong?"

I was in such an emotional state that I answered, "I'm just having a really shitty day."

"Me too. Wanna have a burger?" as he handed out a Burger King baggie.

We got to talking. I enjoyed his company so much that I missed the tram. We walked home. His apartment was a stop before mine, but he kept me company until the next stop. I hugged him, because he restored my faith in humanity at a time I needed it, gave him my number, and thanked him.

I told my husband about it that night, that I met this great guy, who was so nice to me. I thought nothing of it when he sent me an SMS days later,asking me if I wanted to go to the local Weihnachtsmarkt. We made candles from a candle-making stand. It never occurred to me to tell him I was married because he never asked, and I saw no reason to.

Christmas Eve he sent me a text message "How's my darling kucing?" Kucing is the Malaysian word for kitty, close to the Tagalog word for it, Kuting.

Uh-oh, I thought. I felt that it wasn't proper to tell him through text that I am off the market, so I decided to wait until he wanted to see me again.

So today he asked me to go to a local Chinese restaurant. We met in front of the City Hall, and walked to the restaurant. As he suggested that we order to go and eat dinner and drink wine over at his place, I said, maybe that wasn't a hot idea.

"Why?"

"I'm married."

At first he didn't believe me, as I related my life to him. He kept on saying boyfriend, as in, "So, where does your boyfriend work?"

"You honestly didn't notice the ring on my right finger?" (In Germany, wedding rings are slipped on the right finger, not left)

"No, why should I? It could've been your Grandma's ring for all I know. Besides, men don't really pay attention to these kind of things."

He insisted that we eat at his place, since I was married anyway and he won't mess around with a married woman. "Did you tell your husband that we were meeting today?"

"No, I hadn't had the chance. Besides, I think he is a bit jealous of you."

"I understand. Better not tell him. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.*"

He ordered for us, to go. I put my house keys in my jeans pocket, in case I need to poke his eyes out if he tries something funny.

* * *

We ate dinner in front of his TV at his living room. I told him that I felt it was better to tell him personally that I was married, and he thanked me for my honesty. He acted kind of funny, kept on saying "I can't believe you're married." or "I won't light the candle, since you're married anyway and I don't have to impress you with my charm or wit anymore." I told him that we are trying for a baby, and his face fell. "I guess I really don't stand a chance." He gave me a grand tour of his apartment, and my eyes spotted a 9mm gun under the coffee table. " What's that? Is it real?"

"This? No, it isn't." He took out the cartridge to reveal the rubber bullets inside. "I just moved in and hadn't had the chance to pack away all my stuff." I looked around, and nodded.

"So anyway, I have papers to grade tonight. Maybe we could hang out on Wednesday. I am going to a Tarantino-themed party. You could come with us."

What I didn't tell him that my single friend Katja was coming, and maybe they could hit it off. Hopefully.

Why Did His Penis Cross the Road?

Happy New Year, everyone! As a treat, I present you this hilarious, dirty, misogynistic ditty from Canadian Jon la Joie E=MC Vagina.



Good times in Poland...

The Thrill of the Chase

As a single woman, I was a shameless flirt. In some circles, I was known as a slut. I have no shame in saying that, and in fact, I kind of reveled in my ill-repute.

Do you guys know how I met Thomas? It wasn't that he sized me up. I sized him up. I spied him from across the room, and made sure that he asked for my number by the end of the day. It's so easy to play, especially when the two people involved are adults who know how to play the game.

I have been so far faithful to my husband. I have no plans in cheating on him. If I wanted to, I could've done so in Spain. To be honest, I was repulsed by the machismo in Spain, in how they made it so obvious that that wanted me, and not because they found me pretty. Remember that Friends episode where Joey and Chandler got free cable porn? I think that free access to pornography has spoiled the id in those men, and thought that every elevator encounter would end up in bed. And another thing, I am very discriminating when it comes to taste and looks. If I don't find you hot, your chances with me are zero. Barcelona is an anomaly in the Mediterranean: The girls are unbelievably hot, the men are ugly. I swear, the ratio of hot girls to guys is 4:1.

Sometimes, the predator in me misses the chase. Thomas and I have no fast rules when it comes to flirting, and it never really occurred to me to do it. I haven't found anybody worthwhile to flirt with...yet. However, I have this weird craving for attention, to flirt with someone, to make myself pretty and make somebody fall in love with me and crush their hearts with my heel. I don't want to deny it, since that will make it worse. I want to channel it to something else. I need to chase after something. I don't know what.

Name That Statue!

Where is this statue? What is its relation to Jose Rizal? Answers until December 31. First to post the answers in the comments section wins a treat from Breslau, Poland, my next destination!

EDIT: What? No answers?

Get Me Out Of Here

Every day of being here reminds me how much I miss Barcelona. How much I miss living in a big city. See that photo? That was me last Halloween. I dressed like that a couple of times in Barcelona, at a '30s-themed bar. The owners, who were also dressed in '30s get-ups themselves, loved my look that they even gave me free drinks. People loved my victory rolls (a kind of 1940s hairdo), told me I was the swellest-looking babe in the joint. And these were from strangers, people who were dressed normally.

I dressed like that today at our company Christmas party. It's the only time of the year I get to dress up in bland, gray Germany, because people here normally don't do make-up. That suits me fine, but I need one day of the year to look fancy, you know? And people here just had to rain on my parade. A colleague told me that my red, shiny lipstick made me look like a clown. I didn't think much of it and let it slide with a witty comeback. Later, some of us from the party went to a club, and a random guy who I don't know from Adam told me that I wore too much lipstick and to tone it down. WTF?! It's part of the look! I mean, you are entitled to your opinion, and I'm sorry that I don't conform to your standard of beauty, but you're not the kind of guy I would be interested in anyway, so scat outta here! I just ignored him.

You know, living in Barcelona made me realize how negative I've become. Germans in Spain were taken aback at the vitriol I had against Germany. All of them were Wessies, so they told me to move out, head west, or head to Berlin. Get to know the "real" Germany. "The non-racist part," they said. Go somewhere more liberal. I would love to move to Berlin, but Thomas hates it--it's too big for him, too spread out. And teachers don't earn so much there, so scratch that. I tried to convince Thomas to live in Barcelona, but he refused because it lacked forests. And you know how important that is for Germans. So with a heavy heart, I resigned myself to the fact that living in Barcelona was not in the cards for me.

So I said, I'll give Erfurt a chance. I'll try to remain upbeat and positive, create an energy around me to make new friends. I am not the only person who thinks finding friends here in Erfurt is difficult. Several people have told me so as well. But I will try to let the beauty of the city shine, and forget about the rude people who make life here a living hell.

Thomas finally agrees that maybe, just maybe, Erfurt has been too hard on me. He finally agrees that people here are narrow-minded, and it is possible that life here has been a sad experience. So there is a possiblity that we might be moving to another place. However, reading other expat experiences in the area, I am not so sure that it would be any better than Erfurt. If anything, it could be worse.

Gosh. I pray that I will be able to remain positive and upbeat. Please, for my sanity's sake. I don't think I can tough it out here anymore. If wearing shiny red lipstick is a crime, may lightning strike me down!

Spliff from the Joint

Warning: Adult Content

Hi, I am Arashi, and I am an occasional pot smoker. A social smoker. I don't go out and look for it, but when the opportunity arises, why not?

I may not be a pothead, but I have noticed a difference in the way We (the Filipinos and Americans) and They (Europeans) smoke a joint. The Filipinos have access to home-grown quality grass, super cheap. If you buy directly from the source (Mountain Province), you could get 200 grams for 5 euros. Hash, 10 euros for ten grams. So we tend to be wasteful with our joints. We enjoy unadulterated, rolling-stick full joints. Bursting at the seams.

In Europe, I noticed that people like to smoke spliffs. When I told my husband that we Filipinos smoke joints pure, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "Do you want me to die?" and indeed, I think he would have. I remember this time when I had to drag him 100 meters to our tent when he passed out after smoking a spliff. People, a spliff.

When I told a friend in Barcelona that Filipinos smoke joints, and a Canadian in the group agreed, saying that in Canada, we only smoke joints, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "That's so strong! I would die if I smoke one!"

Look, to be quite honest, the way one smokes a joint is the way one enjoys wine. I take a drag, hold it in my lungs, and exhale. Marijuana smoke is smooth, and holding it in my lungs is easy.

Mixing a joint with tobacco makes it taste nasty, and cigarette smoke to me is really abrasive. I try to hold it in but the tobacco smoke makes my throat itch and my lungs ache and I fall into a coughing fit because I can't hold it in. It really tastes, and is disgusting.

Even the way Europeans mix their joints remind me how stingy they can be. Some spliffs I have smoked here are more tobacco than joint. It may also have something to do with the fact that pot is more expensive in Europe. Weird, since Europeans are usually more open to admitting that they have tried pot than Americans or Filipinos.You would think that with that openness,the price of Marijuana would drop.

And you know what the other weird thing is? I am not a cigarette smoker. I hate the smell and the taste. Nor have I taken other drugs, like meth or coke. There goes the "Gateway Drug" theory.

The Land of Ice and Snow

I did a bit of traveling this week. Thomas and I were snowed in in Andermatt, Switzerland, as Mother Nature dumped 70 centimeters, or almost three feet of snow in that town. A lot of people hiked up the next day to ski or snoword on freshly laid snow, as winter season hasn't officially begun yet. It was my first time to see snow covered mountains, so blinding that I thought I must have been a vampire in my past life. It was enough to give me a headache. For those wondering why, it doesn't snow where I come from. The first time I experienced snowfall was 2006.

Back. Drudge. Work. So help me God. I need a drink.

Martyr

Women, lease enlighten why do we play martyr and guilt-trip other people?

Why do we valiantly scrub the floors and overload ourselves with housework in the valiant hopes that one day, someone will recognize our efforts?

What do we women actually want to achieve by playing martyr?

It just made me hate my mother more. I don't do it myself. When my husband complains that a corner is dusty even if I cleaned it yesterday, I tell him to clean it himself if he is so displeased with it.

Really, we womanfolk should stop doing this woe is me schtick. It doesn't work. It antagonizes the people around us. Let us get our collective stick out, and try to be less anal about things.

Breathe. Take a break. Go to the spa or something. Don't make other people feel guilty, don't make other people resent you, because you want to be deified.

Sie Liebt Dich

I was at Jeweled Concrete's blog when I chanced upon a clip of the Beatles, IN GERMAN! I knew that they spent time in Hamburg, but that they sang in German? Sau cool!

Hier sind die Beatles, mit Sie Liebt Dich. Für alle Leute, die gerarde Deutsch lernen.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

I started playing Ultimate Disc (or Frisbee) in Erfurt about a couple of months ago. A group of friends and I were playing an easy version of Ultimate when a real Ultimate team also started playing. We played alongside each other, and my P.E. hating self decided that Frisbee may not be a bad thing after all.

I played my last game with the Patatas Bravas/Crema Catalanas today. Who are they? They are one of the best Ultimate Disc teams in Spain. The photo was taken today, November 16, at the beach. And what on earth are we still doing at the beach in November? Playing frisbee, that's what. It's still warm enough to play frisbee at the beach. Then I go back to cold Erfurt while I bundle up to play Ultimate in the freezing cold. I will miss Barcelona, but they haven't seen the last of me yet!

The Battle Within

This article from the Singapore Strait Times paints a pretty accurate picture of the state of the Philippines and the effects of the Church's influence over my country. As a conflicted Catholic, I understand the reluctance, even opposition, of people to pass a law that is clearly, sorely needed in an impoverished third world nation. To people from the West, what is taking place in the Philippines is ridiculous considering we are in 2008. For Filipinos, this bill is akin to giving women the vote in the United States.

For the Filipino middle class, family planning and contraception is a quiet, personal decision undertaken by many married women. For the poor, it is a question of resources. In a country where many people eat once a day, the cheapest 30 peso pack of pills is out of the question. While the middle class have the luxury to flout the Church's stand on Family Planning, the poor who depend on free social services can't.

If you wonder how can the Catholic Church have such a far-reaching influence over the government, take this social mindset into account. For the majority of Filipinos, the question whether or not you believe in God is moot. The proper question to ask is: What religion do you have? Are you Born Again Christian? Protestant? Catholic? Clearly, religion is a major force in the lives of the people. People vote for whom the Church says.

Since there is no divorce and no abortion, the question of whether or not to end an unwanted pregnancy or an unhappy marriage is also moot. People who can no longer stand each other get an annullment, if they can afford it. For those who can't, informal, unrecognized separation is the answer.

I was born Catholic. I still officially am. But I have always struggled with my faith over the years because of the iniquities inflicted by the Church on people. I have seen the Church do both good and bad. It is not a bad Church, but of course I would be stupid to believe that they don't have an agenda. I believe that if people could only see how economic prosperity has emasculated the Catholic Church in the West, the battle for Contraception in the Philippines would have been over a long time ago. As in many Latin American countries, a church needs poverty and strife to exist.

Intellectually, I believe in the right to family planning. As a Catholic, I feel conflicted, especially because of old prejudices I had growing up. I have seen my evolution as a person over the years, but I cannot erase 15 years of Catholic schooling. I went to a Catholic school and a Catholic university. I had been taught natural family planning methods, that the Philippines is not overpopulated, that it has a "population displacement" problem. That I could get pregnant in a swimming pool if a boy ejaculated in it. That I should remain chaste until marriage.

I would be a hypocrite if I said that I was an ideal Catholic. I am not. I never have been, because I never believed in remaining chaste. However, I would be lying if I said that I was never affected by the things that the nuns taught me in school. I only felt confident enough to use the pill two years ago, after being assured by my German gynecologist that I will not be rendered infertile by it.

My story is reflected by most of the Filipino middle class. Most of us went to private Catholic schools. Most of us were told that we could get pregnant in swimming pools by nuns. And most of us, even though we know that the Catholic Church is spreading bull, are too weak to resist pressure from our families to be good Catholics and sign that little paper on the Church door against the Population Bill.

So for the people who are fighting for that the Family Planning Bill in the Philippines, I believe that lobbying for the bill in Congress is just one part of the war. They also have to convince the middle class that ousted Erap that the Population Bill is in the country's economic best interest. It is an intellectual and spiritual battle, which is unfortunatley a battle fought within.

Homeland vs. Motherland: Chocolate a la Taza

Chocolate is one of my most favorite things on earth.

When I was a child, I would eat Milo or Ovaltine straight from the can, and consume ten packs of Horlicks (meron pa ba nun?) in one sitting. My Grandmother would bring home tableas of chocolate, flat and round chocolate tablets an inch thick, stacked and rolled into paper like coins, from Bicol, where she went every year to join the Peñafrancia festival. She would brew the chocolate in milk or coconut milk, to make a thick soup known in the Philippines as tsokolate-eh, or would add rice to make champurrado.

I remember the rich, nutty, chocolate-y taste of the tsokolate-eh. Sometimes, I would forego the dissolving in water and just eat the tableas raw (read: papak), munching down on the tableas. Sometimes, if I decided that I was a princess that day, I would ask my Grandma to take out the good china from the cabinet. I had a special glazed demitasse set, gilded at the rim and painted with faded purple on the outside. My grandma said that it was my special cup for special occasions.

Fast forward twenty or so years later, I am in Spain after a lifetime of dreaming. I seek out tsokolate-eh, knowing that the Spanish have their version too, called Chocolate a la Taza. It is not the Tsokolate-eh of my childhood, but it is similar. A thick chocolatey liquid, although the Spanish blend is much smoother and milkier than the Filipino blend. The nuttiness in the flavor doesn't come from Coconut milk or from the crude quality of Filipino chocolate, but from the toasted flour that they add to the brew to thicken it. And instead of biscocho, I dunked in churros in my chocolate. It is not earthy like Filipino tsokolate-eh, and I realize that comparison is futile, as they are two different genus of the same species.

VERDICT: It's a tie! I like the both. Yay to chocolate!

Estoy harta de español

Have you ever heard of the term language saturation? Guess where I am? I am not complaining, it's just that my brain feels very, so very tired and heavy...

Odio el subjuntivo. ¿Porque existe?

Homeland vs. Motherland: Filipinos

Around the world, Filipinos are known to be a smiling, friendly people. Not afraid of working overtime, asking for even longer hours, working in cramped, small places, not heeding the pains in their back as long as Junior gets a new pair of shoes for graduation.



In Spain, Filipinos are also a kind of cookie, and there is a pervading myth that these cookies originated from the Philippines, hence the name. I don't remember seeing these cookies back home, but I do remember a kind of galletas that has a hole in the middle.

Many people find it offensive that there is a chocolate-covered cookie named after us, saying that this is racist. I don't see this racist. Then maybe the Dutch should howl in protest over the connotations of "Dutch treat," or the Danish asking that the pastries be re-named. Or that the French would have heaved a sigh of relief after the Americans started asking McDonalds for "Freedom Fries." Besides, there are also white chocolate covered Filipinos,how is that representative of us? So c'mon, don't be so sensitive. It's just a cookie.

Verdict: "Matam'is ya'an!" for the Filipinos the people! Not the cookie! Really, the cookies are so dry that I could not enjoy the chocolate coating.

Be You.

"It cost me a lot to be authentic. . . Because a woman is more authentic the more she looks like what she has dreamed for herself."
--Agrado, Todo Sobre Mi Madre

I have a pretty manic personality, and I have really no control over what to fixate upon. I don't know why I like something, and when I do, I just go crazy with it. I think it. I eat it. I breathe it.

Sometimes this mania will last for years. It will die out just as suddenly it started, and no amount of force on my part can make me want to revisit my manias. Sometimes it stays with me. Some manias I have had when I was 16 or 17 are still with me to this day.

I have always had geeky interests. When I was 8 or 9, The Real Ghostbusters (the cartoon) was on air, and I would never miss an episode, ever. I would park myself in front of our TV, and I would write down which ghost appeared on what day on one of my school notebooks. When I was 14, I wrote fan mail and poems to Gillian Anderson and
David Duchovny.

I have always been interested in traveling to other places, even when I was a kid. I just didn't really have the opportunity to visit other countries, but I would say that I knew Manila well by the time I was 10. My Grandma took me with her on her trips whenever she could, and she had itchy feet. I guess I caught her bug, and I wanted to travel the Philippines, too.

But what really made me dream, and dream big, was a TV show on the Discovery Channel called Travelers. I was 16, about the time my parents decided to subscribe cable TV. I watched it whenever I could. The show revolved around six Americans who visited obscure festivals around the world. I loved it so much that I also had a notebook wherein I wrote down the country and city they went to, date of airing, hosts present. This show made me dream that someday, I would go and see the Boi Bumba festival. How do I get there? How can I be a part of it? It was one of the reasons why I went to Journ School in college, because I knew I had a gift for communication, and journalists go places, right?

My parents had other ideas for me. You want to travel? Go be a stewardess.

This short-sightedness frustrated me for so long. When I got my degree, I wanted to embark on my great Philippine adventure. I wanted to travel the width and breadth of my country, but my parents forbade me. Too dangerous, they said. I listened to them, and stayed put. This is not strange in the Philippines, as my 25 year old brother still lives at home and gets "Wer r u?" text messages from my mother at 12 midnight.

I slugged away at my job, got a boyfriend, split up, ended up depressed, and became obsessed with anime, eventually cosplay. It was the only thing that made me smile at the time. I would sit and watch anime an average of 6 hours a day. I was around 22 or 23.

Then I met Thomas.

He gave me the courage to actually use all the money I have saved all these years at the bank and with him, I discovered the Philippines. I had also seen parts of the Philippines with my Grandma, and we embarked on our great adventure together in 2004. But with Thomas, I had the courage to visit unknown places, not just places where we knew people. Basically, he gave me the courage to continue something that my Grandma started.

And now I am here in Barcelona and learning Spanish! I still can't believe it, and I am eternally grateful for having this opportunity, and the opportunity to become my real self: A citizen of the world.

Enlighten Me, Please

For anybody out there who knows Latins or Spanish guys: Is it just me, or do they think with their penises 100% of the time? Or is the word "intercambio" (language exchange or tandem in German), actually a ruse used by men to look for dates, girlfriends, and sex partners?

Doing this intercambio thing in Barcelona almost has a feel of a blind date. Really, looking for the perfect "language level" match, anxiety whether you guys would get along, and the whole "did he/she like me?" question.

I mean, two guys I'm doing intercambio with think that I am into them. Yuck and double yuck. They interpreted completely innocuous things I've done as attempts to seduce them.

Upside is, I am learning the best places to go to here. And my Spanish is getting better.

Where the Boys Are

One of my complaints in Barcelona is that I am always surrounded by pretty girls, but the good looking guys seem to be a rare species in this jungle.

I found out where ther natural habitat was last night when I went to a club here in Barcelona. It seems that the male population is nocturnal, and the cutest guys come out in droves in these clubs.

So a group of female acquaintances and I were in this club, and I observed that the men began to pick off the girls one by one. They first picked out the prettiest girls in the group using the normal pick up cues: Lighting up a cigarette, bumping into her "accidentally" on the crowded dance floor. The next to be picked off were the girls who looked "game," girls who seemed up for anything and would be fun to hang out with. Next came the slutty-looking girls. If you were not picked up by the end of the night, woe is you. If anything, these Spanish guys are quick. By the end of the night , my companions were in some dark corner of the club necking with one of the boys.

I didn't really like electronic music, so I would switch between the large dance floor and the smaller area upstairs that played indie and retro music. A guy kept stealing glances at me while I was dancing, and I noticed him from the corner of my eye. I wasn't really thinking about flirting with him or anything, but he came up to me and asked my name.

"Arashi."
"Arthur."

And we attempted to make small talk in between lulls in the songs. It was just too loud, so he invited me to go outside to grab some air. I wanted out of the smoky bar, so I said yes, and he took me by the hand and made our way out of the club.

Once outside, he in his broken English tried to pull me to the bushes in front of an abandoned building outside the club. Uh-oh. These hipsters don't waste time, do they? I'll be damned if I would let another 30 year old dirty boy fuck me behind the fucking bushes. What am I, 19? How do I get out of this without him getting violent? So I took a risk, and kissed him.

"I'm sorry, but I am married." as I came up for air. I held up my right hand, hoping he wouldn't question the position of the ring. But hey, if he didn't eve check that I had a ring, how could he notice even that?

"Ok, ok. That's ok." He continued to kiss me and still tried to lead me to the bushes. Fuck. Persistent, and he doesn't even care.

We kissed again, and I was reminded why I stopped dating smokers after my first boyfriend. But he does kiss nice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I said, and pulled away and headed back to the club.

"Yeah...." he said sheepishly. Dejected, he called out "I really like your shirt," pointing to my t-shirt that had a Clockwork Orange logo on it.

Thanks.

I grabbed my stuff, looked for my missing friends, didn't find them, and decided to go home alone. On the way out the bouncer commented, "Nice film," pointing to my shirt.

"Yeah, read the book, hadn't seen the film."