Chelsea Maurina Barcelona.

That's right. I'm off to Spain this eve. Nine days ago I got a call asking if I would be interested in a last minute trip to Italy. Yup. Then the fact that neither of us had an international licence meant we couldn't rent a car and would have to fork over $600 CAD to pay someone to drive us the 4 hrs to the Amalfi Coast.

So Spain it was. 9 days ago I had no clue anything would come along out of the ordinary. Now my bag is packed and sitting by the front door waiting to go to Spain for 14 days. Furthest I've been is the Dominican Republic for my wedding/honeymoon. Most people don't spontaneously go to Europe. Most people don't paint their bedroom the colour of neon pea soup. I can't explain these things, they just come to me and I say yes.

Some friends stopped by to help (watch) me pack. This girl has talent for telling stories. She can tell you about breaking a jar of pickles while stocking shelves in the grocery store and you walk way thinking it should be made into a major motion picture.
Look at Rob contorting with enjoyment. She lays it out there and it's always good. She could have her own MTV show like "The City" or "The Hills" but it could be called "The Suburbs" and it could follow her round as she breaks stuff at work and then tells us about it.
She could drive a dump truck around a Walmart parking lot and people would be riveted. The pressing need: figuring out what clothes to bring to the resort on the Mediterranean. I can pack for Vegas. I can pack for Mexico. I know whatever I bring will be great. Europe is a whole 'nother story.
I just wanna look cool so bad. I ended up emptying half of my closet into my suitcase. I figure I'll get a feel for it when I get there. My mom couldn't figure out how so many clothes could be well under the 50 lb limit until I pointed out to her that I dress like a floozy in the summer, hence, all my clothes are just scraps of fabric and don't weigh anything.

Then, instead of packing, I ate veggie dogs and drank white wine with my friends and made a bunch of headbands in hopes that I'll look like a cool gypsy in Spain. I also dressed up and acted like an angry man. Put a cumber bun on me and the testosterone flows like magma.
Made sure I packed my cat.
I blinded/confused him with the flash so that I could sedate him, and then I piled all my clothes on top. We're gonna have the best time touring Barcelona together.
When you're up til 3 am packing, it only makes sense to add a little puff paint detail to your luggage.
And a little beading to the zipper, in case some other genius happened to puff paint hearts on their suitcase- they won't mix theirs up with mine.
So I'm off! Gonna act like some pretentious artist as I sketch some of the architecture. I have no clue how to sketch buildings, but I know how to pretend that I do.