Roof-top party

Max and I hosted our first shindig in Barcelona on the roof of our building. We ordered Lebanese food and hired a belly dancer. All in all, I think it was a success.

Died and gone to heaven

Not really, but I am enjoying life in Barcelona that much. Being out and about, soaking up both the Mediterranean sun and culture is producing one bad side effect however. I'm not blogging, Twittering, or using Facebook. My virtual presences has, if not ceased, than at least taken a long holiday. When it is finally resurrected, however, don't let me forget to blog about the naked cyclist I saw riding the streets of Barcelona the other day. If only I had my camera with me!

Where in the world is...the 2nd anniversary edition

Max and I are celebrating our 2nd anniversary this week by...

Staying here....





Visiting here...



And indulging in a little of this...

Diane's typical Friday afternoon in Barcelona (in pictures)

Exhibit A: Tapas including Pimientos de Padrón (some sort of fried peppers and MY FAVORITES), as well as feta and tomatoes, and cod crochets

Exhibit B: Charlie, my usual lunch partner, beggin' for a little something something (except the peppers, of course).

PS. Look familiar to you, Headbang? Lunch certainly isn't the same without your company!

Sleep deprived

What I heard from my balcony until 4a this morning.



Congratulations.

Now can I get some sleep?

Love is in the air

When you think of famous, romantic cities, which ones come to mind?

Venice? Rome? Paris?

Based on my short time here, I am beginning to think Barcelona should be on the top of any 'Most Romantic Cities' list. Not that I would have much personal experience (because Max has traveled so frequently since I arrived), but it appears as though the inhabitants of this great city are in the mood for love--or at least sex. Everywhere I go I see people who can't seem to keep their hands (or any other body part for that matter) off each other.

I'm far from prudish, but still turned all shades of red when the woman standing next to me at the street corner felt impelled to perform some sort of tongue aerobics in the ear of her companion. Honestly, if this is not Olympic sport, it should be. And because this is a PG-rated blog, I'm prohibited from telling you what another man and woman were checking out as they stood in line at the supermarket. (Hint: It wasn't their groceries.) From taxi stands to automatic bank tellers--morning, noon, and night--public displays of affection are both daring and prominent.

I wish I could explain away this phenomenon. Perhaps it's the beautiful Spring-like weather of the Mediterranean? Maybe the southern European custom of leisurely, 2+ hour lunches give employees time for truly happy meals? Or, could it be Spanish wine producers are spiking the Rioja with some Funky Cold Medina? These are my working theories at the moment. The only thing I do know for sure is that I am very happy Charlie is neutered.

The new Mandy pad

Is he or isn't he?

No, I'm not speaking about the Glam rocker!

Rather, an American cocker, my personal Idol, who since his earliest days as a pup has displayed his own sort of ambiguity.

At first, I tried to rationalize away the signs -- how Charlie seemed to have an extra spring in his step whenever he emerged from the doggy day spay freshly coiffed and sporting a new bandana, his disdain for dirty surfaces, refusal to walk in the rain without his favorite fire-engine red jersey, his preference for squatting instead of hiking his leg up over the nearest hydrant, and how, when going to chew on my shoes, he always picked out the most expensive, if not bedazzled, ballroom pair.

"Charlie is a metrosexual," I thought to myself. "He is just a high-maintenance diva like his mother and nothing more."

When Charlie went head-over-heels for Mario, the neighborhood beagle, my instinct was to ignore the obvious and delight in their "close friendship."

And even after Max entered the picture and my dog, the one I had picked out and raised since puppyhood, was curled up at my boyfriend's feet whenever he had the chance (and would GROWL when I tried to relocate him near me), I was jealous, but never thought anything more.

But the trend has continued for years now. His little tail wags when he has the opportunity to sniff the butts of little boy dogs, but he barks at bitches that get too close.

What else can I think? Since Charlie was castrated at 8-months old, he seems to have developed a case of, what can only be described as, 'testicles- envy'. That's right, folks. Charlie prefers other...er...uh... cockers, like himself.

And, really, who could blame him?