The Long Overdue Vacation: Day 4 Addendum for Alan

“Way to forget about how you and Ezeibe still went to dinner that night” – Alan in response to my Day 4 post

This is how he decided to comment on my blog. His snark will be forever immortalized on my blog like the puke stain that’s forever on my bedroom carpet because my dad decided it was a good idea to feed my dog an orange.

Well thank you Alan for the catch. Let’s take a moment to go back to Barcelona and finish off Day 4 so I can spend every other sentence mocking you in petty and immature ways. After being ripped off on paella, Alan felt physically ill from spending any more money. Our 75euro “snack” turned out to be quite filling, but Ezeibe was still determined to eat dinner at this fancy, expensive restaurant called Bar Mut, because the New York Times said so. Ezeibe claims he is an atheist, but he really worshipped two gods: his cell phone and The New York Times travel section. The only way he was convincing me to go was if he offered to pay for it, which he did. This wasn’t enough incentive for party-pooper Alan, who decided to skip out and spend the rest of the night presumably closing his eyes really tight and opening them until euros magically appeared back in his wallet.

Ezeibe and I walked a good mile up the Barcelona streets trying to find the restaurant. Meanwhile, Alan probably took a shit, hoping euros or a sense of a good time would come out of his ass.

When we got to the restaurant, Ezeibe claimed they screwed up our reservation time, which they had written down for earlier in the night. What probably really happened was Ezeibe screwed up again because he didn’t understand what they were saying when he called the restaurant. Ezeibe basically dropped the ball again…just like the New York Giants, right Alan?

It was probably good that Cheapskate McGee didn’t go, because this restaurant was small (probably a fire hazard to fit any more than 20 people in there at once) and cramped. The service was friendly, and the food was probably great, but a little over my unrefined palate. You basically ordered from a menu of fancy tapas, except it was all in Catalan, and we had forgotten what everything meant after our waiter meticulously went through each option on the menu, poor guy. Speaking of poor guys, fun fact, Alan clips his nails on the bathroom floor and doesn’t clean up the clippings, much to Ezeibe’s disgust.

Here's a godawful picture of some tall guy caught smoking pot on a Barcelona castle defense tower. I hope this picture embarrasses him enough to never point out my shortcomings again.

In conclusion, you’re cheap, Alan. Now, where was I?