Never wear Spandex in Spain

So last night, our group met at 8:45pm for dinner at the Italian Restaurant I mentioned in the previous post. Once we had sat down and they'd begun to serve the pasta and such, a general panic permeated the room. At my table of nearly thirty people, they gave us only 3 plates of pasta. One look and I thought, "Where are the other 26 plates? I could eat one of these myself." Everyone got 4 noodles each (I wish this was an exaggeration). They continued to bring out two or three other types of pasta, each of which we got to try 4 noodles of. In total, I had about 12 noodles. The panic ensued as a result of the previous nearly 2 months of gorging ourselves with our madres' cooking. We became like vultures. "That table got an extra plate and they only have 5 people!!!!" "They're not even eating their dessert!!" Would this be the first time we'd go hungry in Spain!? What if I don't reach the throwing up sensation after this meal? Thankfully, the second course was the kicker. There, hidden beneath our pasta plates, was another for the pizza. Dessert and coffee naturally followed and there was peace and harmony once again. Once Don Corbin (JMU professor) left, the bartender approached several of us who lingered to chat with our coffees. "El Profesor se fue, no? Ahora quereis chupitos italianos?" ("The professor left, right? Do y'all want Italian shots now?") Ha, what a guy. He brought out lemon for the girls and something gross and clear for the guys. At home, I fell asleep reading a 20 page story for short stories...not that SHORT if you ask me. 

Siesta lunch today was gorbanzo bean soup and fried chicken fillets with roasted red peppers, bread, and fruit. Tried to sleep, but couldn't (I have a lot on my mind today) and headed to my last two classes of the day. Now, I'm waiting for Alex to get out of Phonetics so we can go get a pincho (tapas/snack). 

I guess I should also explain the title of this post. Yesterday, on my walk to the river, I was wearing my running outfit (spandex and sweatshirt) and happened to pass by one of the regular beggars on my way down Rua Mayor. The others will usually sit in silence, but this guy really gives me the creeps. He's dressed like the leader of a biker gang, wreaks of alcohol, and will come within inches of your face. "Porque no me amas mi reina?" is what he sputtered in my mine yesterday, which means "Why don't you love me, my queen?" I blame it on the spandex as this wasn't the only passing comment I received on my walk either. The same thing happened before when I wore my workout clothes to class; people stare at you as if you were wearing a huge elephant costume and the men say distasteful things. What a telling message, though, that in Spain it's possible to feel attractive even when you're sweaty, out of shape, and without make-up.